Medulla
by ex0LL
Summary: The grim tales of a forsaken boy struggling against his psyche. PEGI: Sex; Bad Language; Violence; Drugs - AUTHOR NOTES: this fiction adopts a realistic style of narration and literal approaching. The book cover art was drawn by me.
1. Killing Strangers

Touch is the bitter slice before the blood.

Something is closing in.

Sound is a twisted far away lullaby.

The door opens violently. The hulking bare-chested worgen moans as he falls on all fours, sniffing around the choking air filled with dust, maniacally. Fresh wounds spill blood. They are few cuts, but deep and precise.

 _I will find you_ , the Gilnean told himself.

 _Not.. yet.. I can hang on_.

He was clearly chasing someone. Or something.

The old house, wrecked and molded by abandonment and time, seemed to willingly suffocate the wolf man's senses. Truthfully, the deathweed properties of the poison already started coursing through his blood circulation. The deadly mix was a carefully treated concoction of anesthetic and dust of decay. Hauling around and drooling uncontrollably, the worgen desperately started rustling and overturn furnishing, howling with all of his remaining strenghts.

 _I am sorry, Lisa._  
 _I am sorry things ended up this way._

Exhaustion collapsed on the back of the Gilnean man. Energies weren't enough to even revert the body into the human he once only was. The tireness started being overwhelming: limbs stopped responding. Still, something seemed off. The worgen was unable to lose conscience. The eyelids felt heavy, the mind numb. But he couldn't keep his eyes shut. He couldn't pass away. The only thing he felt real was the unnatural crescent burning of the wounds.

He let out a feeble growl.

 _I just want to be with you._  
 _I never cared about anything but you and the child._

Clicking bones were heard from the ceiling. The moon light weakly pierced through a hole on consumed structure of the house, shining for a moment an upside-down smirk in the darkness.

Remember to focus.

The slim figure descended upon the floor crouching and crawling towards the dormant figure of the Gilnean native.  
The worgen felt completely paralyzed, and could only stare at the shadowy figure as it became clearer with the approaching of the moon shine glimmer.

This is how you die.

A young undead man with chin-length crow black hair waltzed forwards, holding a one-bladed scissor in the left hand. His bangs hung down just over his eyebrows. His facial features were pretty delicate and his body structure not overly decayed for one of his kin.

Without spilling a single word, the forsaken covered his grin with his right pointing-finger, slowly rising the blade holding hand, his eyes wide open. Bone cracking noises seemed to accompany each of his jagged movements.

This is unfair.  
I want to live, Lisa.  
I want once again to go to work at the bakery and smell the warm and crispy bread that I would take out of the wood oven early in the morning in Merchant Square, I want to serve Mrs. Buckley who would come with her son once every three days to buy pie, I want to go to the tavern and drink beer together with John and Benjamin, I want to go back to take night walks with you, hanging out with Amelia and Gerard who would talk bad about Chris' wife and how horrible her cooking is, I want you back, I want to be with you, I want to see our child being born, I want to smell your hair and touch your lips, I want-

One swift lunge pierced the worgen's skull.

The killer's maniac smirking and excitement faded from his face, keeping only faint ghostly eyes wide open, staring the strong creature silhouette down, slowly rotating his head on a side like a curious child.  
One quick gesture retrieved the scissor blade from the beast's cranium.

The night is choking tight.

Nobody is going to remember you.

The undead chose to match the crackling bones sound of his legs marching with a feeble maniacal chuckle.

There's no place for mercy in this world.


	2. Aunt Rhody

Aunt Rhody is a psychotic maniac.

 _Did you do it again?_

Aunt Rhody will make you eat frogs if you make her angry.

 _Yes._

Aunt Rhody loves torturing bats and poking mice's eyes out.

 _What happened exactly?_

Aunt Rhody puts needles in my arms. She says I can use them to harm people in lots of ways.

 _The wolf man started it. He chased me down._

The undead lad started feeling nervous. He scratched his elbow, then hastly switched to scratch the back of his neck with the other hand. He let out a quick, short, desperate cackle.

 _Was it from Ivar's pack?_

No?

No. He was Gilnean.

Aunt Rhody always liked the boy. She must have been beautiful in life, but undeath held mercy for nobody. A strange dark purple colour painted the woman's long hair. Her festering facial features matched her twisted personality, creating the best combination one would expect from the forsaken. Biting her lower lips in an odd sensual way, she wouldn't stop staring at the young man.

 _I see._

He, the lad couldn't help but space a babble with a spasmic chuckle _, he wanted to kill me.  
_ _I did nothing wrong,_ he oddly tried to excuse himself nervously _, h_ _e had to die.  
_ _I had to kill him._

 _Of course you had to. And did you enjoy that?_

 _I don't know. I think I did._

 _And why you think you did?_

 _Because I don't like it._

 _You don't like what?_

 _I don't like the fact that I'm dead and they are not._

Aunt Rhody paused and rolled her eyes away from the boy before focusing on him again.

Tiring.

Undeath is tiring. Everything feels so far away, you can't touch anything and nothing can really touch you back. That counts for feelings aswell: not every awakening forsaken is given the luck to maintain lucidity or remember who they used to be in life. This seemed indeed to be the case of the young one.

Aunt Rhody felt empathy for him.

Although they belonged to completely different generations, she kind of developed her own obsession for him. Ever since she met him she started taking care of him in Brill, giving him a place where to return, a place to call 'home' in her sinister laboratory. She would forced herself into the fragile conscience of the lad as a matron figure. She was twisted, she was perversed. Her concept of looking after someone was wrong in the very root of her rotten brain.

The boy presented pretty feminine facial features, which sometimes truly made her questioning his true gender.  
His skin was pale but his body didn't suffer any major festering or wounds.

The old, malevolent Rhody thought that he could probably blend in the crowd with a dusty cloak only and enter Stormwind City without having the guards to notice him. The idea aroused the consumed old forsaken in the very wrong ways.

Aunt Rhody is definetly not someone okay.

 _Hi Voldo._

The unresting presence of an Undercity Apothecary forsaken entered Aunt Rhody's laboratory, refusing to exchange the boy's greetings.  
He dressed black, the colour used by the royal alchemists, with flesh missing from his face. He glanced at the deviated woman and spoke words with a suffocating voice, like if mold and dust blocked it on the way out of his throat.

 _I am here for the deal, Rhody._ _Are my mixtures ready?_

 _Disgustingly unpleasant as always, Voldo. Have you ever been taught good manners?_

 _I will not allow a woman of your tastes speaking such words to me._

Aunt Rhody turned her head, seeking her favourite young man's blank expression just for the pleasure to share an illusive moment of complicity.

But he wasn't there anymore.

As a child, taking advantage of a moment of distraction to skip errands and duties, losing theirselves within the fantasy of their own mind, he left.

He had the weird habit of cracking his own finger bones.

After losing everything and everyone he knew, he'd wake up somewhere else as someone else.

Everything tastes like death now.

Once he finished counting his fingers by cracking them one by one, he stopped. He opened his left palm, staring at the points where he'd rip off the skin to let bones serve as claws. His eyes slipped to the needles haunting both his forearms. A soft chuckle followed his maniacal grin.

Then once again, marching.

Stalk. Stalk. Stalk.

There's no rest for the undead. No need for sleep, no need for food.  
The only one thing left to do is stalking.


	3. Picnic on a Lake

Can you feel the grass beneath your feet?

No. I can hear screaming. Someone is screaming.

Old abandoned houses infested Silverpine Forest on the way to the Sepulcher. Probably farmers' and fishermen's when Lordaeron was homeland to the living.

The young undead aimlessly returned to the sweltering darkness of the woods, trying to appease the cruel emptiness that would devour him from within.

The screaming led him to the coasts of the Lordamere Lake. The gloomy Fenris Isle was barely visible through the cold mist that haunted the land of the seeming never ending night.

 _What are they doing? I don't want to deal with more worgen._

The boy softly let out a maniacal snigger, expressing his thoughts out loud in his solitude.

The humanity he once held often battled its way through his mind. But it was too weak to win over what he had become. That feeble voice inside of his head would tell him to run and check on who's in danger. To use caution and the right dose of fear.

But who was in control was just an empty unfeeling wraith. He would not understand. And not understanding things would make him feel more and more restless.

Voices from a fisherman's wrecked house on the coast.

He stopped.

His never blinking eyes would open more and more.

Oh boy. Here we go again.

Two orcs were trying to have their fun time with a young female blood elf. The poor thing had, silky shoulder-lenght white blonde hair, all messed up due to the unpleasant circumstances. Her bright, intense emerald eyes were looking wonderfully terrified. Thalassian fashioned piercings on her left pointy ear; her clothing all ripped off, showing most of her bare body. As elves' physiognomy wanted, she was way overly attractive and sexually arousing, irresistible to both men and women.

And for creatures like orcs, the gaudy beauty of an elf was too much lust to deal with.

Perfect curves, delicate pale pink skin.

Almost irritating.

 _Stop! This was not the deal!_

The girl was trying somehow to maintain her cool, displaying that she wasn't completely panicking because of what was about to happen to her. What a bad liar.  
Her panting started taking the best of her.

The yellowish green skinned orc had his pants off, trying to hold the girl still and at the same time opening up her legs wide open.

The second gentleman didn't even completely take his pants off that he couldn't resist but masturbate to the scene, drooling like a wolf feasting on a boar after  
a whole day of starvaton.

The screaming would actually come from confused and scared captive kal'dorei little girl in a corner of the main room, who would just stand still paralyzed staring at the situation. She didn't really know what was happening or why, but she wasn't liking how the two orcs seemed to be hurting the blood elf.

The brown skinned orc let go of his friend-from-below for a moment and furiously dashed on the little girl with a bestial growl.

 _SHUT UP!_

The smack shut the little kal'dorei girl up, now staring at the scene with her eyes covered in tears.

Oh no.

Cold pierced through.

No, he didn't.

 _LET GO OF ME!_

 _Uhf.. mnhfgrr.. VURBAG! Just come here and hold this whore still!_

No response.

The orc was growing jittery of the continous kicks received from the blood elf. He didn't think it would take so much effort to violate such a fragile looking  
girl.

He turned his head.

 _Vurbag?! WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GO?!_

Finally letting go of the exhausted, gasping girl, he started looking around the dusty house. His little friend stopped throbbing, and he would put his pant on again, nervously, in order to cover his supposed shame.

 _Maybe we attracted worgen here_ , he thought. _We should have tied them and shut them up._

But libido took over good sense. Like it always happens.

The blood elf, with her eyes glued to the orc, crawled towards the little night elf. The latter would just cuddle up against the showing breasts of the sin'dorei, without letting out a single sound. Her cheek violently reddened due to the hit, which heavily contrasted with her soft pale blue skin, creating a bright purple.

The thalassian girl gently caressed the little kal'dorei's blue short hair, trying to hide her trembling to reassure the child.

 _Vurbag.._

Meanwhile, the orc slowly entered the adjacent room, staring at the ceiling. His jaws open, showing only one broken lower fang.

Poor Vurbag was hanging upside-down. The orc's corpse was covered in needles, with multiple stabs on the chest. Blood tears dropping on the floor beneath.

 _What did they do to you..? Who... how-_

His thought stopped. Suddenly, the feeling of a cold blade sinking through his vertebral column. The lunge was surgically perfect.

Any other kind of wound inflicted on that hulking body would end up having the orc still able to turn and crush his opponent, somehow. But not in this situation.  
He couldn't move a muscle. He slowly fell on his knees. The nervous system would never recover from that.

Clicking bones.

One finger crack. Two fingers crack.

One cold hand crawled on the orc's right shoulder.  
Fast panting sounds. He desperately started rolling his eyes all over to find out who was there.

The heart would beat like crazy.  
Sweat falling down his forehead and neck.

Three fingers crack. Four fingers crack.

He wanted to talk, say something. He couldn't.  
Life was betraying him.

The shadow turned around the kneeling orc.  
It crouched before him.

Staring ghostly eyes pierced through the dying rapist's pupils.  
His right hand, unlike the left one, was undamaged and unripped. Black nails, due probably to fibrillose proteins festering.  
He would place it on the top of the greeny bald head of the now harmless victim.

Wait. Not yet.

Once again, sounds of clicking bones. The undead boy's left hand reached for the scissor blade and then elegantly posed on the jugular of the orc, like a feather falling on the ground. The paralyzed mercenary couldn't believe he was going to die. Everything was happening too slowly, giving him way too much to think about, too much to regret.

Wait. No. Wait.

His eyes desperately seeked the homicidal maniac's blade, then studied the arm of the undead.

Needles.

 _Look at me, please._

The orc's eyes met the boy's once again. This time, for a moment, he stopped sweating and despairing. For a moment, time paused.

The scissor blade finally started slowly slitting through the throat.

No moans. No sounds.

The lifless corpse hit the floor.

Killing is the only moment where the forsaken boy really felt something. That sensation of taking away the most precious gift we've all been blessed with. That needing of making someone else as miserable as he's always been since he woke up as an unfeeling walking shell.

He turned towards the two sitting figures of the scared elves. The blood elf girl hugged the little kal'dorei as tight as she could, preparing for the worst.

 _W-What is it you want?_ _.. leave us alone.._

Slow steps. The boy crouched to reach the face of the little night elf who still didn't spill a word after being hit by the giant bogeyman. He innocently rotated his head in curosity, bringing a finger to reach the entrance of his mouth.

The little girl was too scared, and the blood elf didn't dare to move. She couldn't: fear had her frozen.

The stench of death coming from him was hard to handle.

The boy rolled down his eyes. He searched his pockets and eventually took out a very little badly crafted doll.

 _He's Mr. Button. I made him. You can have him if you promise me you won't cry._

The kal'dorei girl didn't understand a word of the rough orcish the boy tried to speak to her; but he didn't seem to even mind about it.  
Yet, she changed expression. She looked surprised, with her sweet mouth open to better breath in that moldering, dusty house. She hesitated for a moment; then she grabbed the little doll hastly. She stared silently at the boy, this time with a very serious look on her face, wiping off the tears.

The blood elf girl was shocked. She quite couldn't keep up with everything that was going on, and what just happened was what left her speechless the most.

The undead lad was very close. She noticed his smooth pale skin and feminine facial features, rather unusual for an undead, forgetting for a moment that most of her naked body was showing.

How a forsaken who cold-bloody murdered like that two orcs, double his size, could now just change attitude into something so apparently innocent?

He was faking. He was faking, for sure.

The boy finally noticed the young sin'dorei and crossed her confused staring. He menaciously stood up, slowly.

Bones cracking.

What scared the girl the most was his blank facial expression. After the killing, it's like his face became a white piece of paper.

In the real world, Horde and Alliance were just names lost in the cold wind. Things like these would be just very common to happen, no matter race allegiances or factions. In the end we are all just men, women and children.

He let out one of his usual nervous chuckling.

 _You are naked,_ he pointed at her.  
 _Did anybody ever tell you that you are not supposed to go around naked?_

She couldn't respond. Her main concern was that he might want to finish what the orcs started.

 _But can he even do that, after all? Does his.. 'thing' work?_ _He looks pretty puny. If I reach for my dagger, I might be able to stab him good. But the child is sitting on my lap.. I can't really move. Maybe if-_

He took off his leather clothing. It wasn't much for covering, but he just offered it to the girl. His way of offering altough pretty much involved throwing it at her face, which didn't really help the sin'dorei feeling any reassured of the situation.

She gulped. An hypocrit thought coursed through her mind:

 _Why men always want that one thing?_

But he was no man anymore. The undead widely disappointed the blood elf's expectations, not even waiting for her to say something.

 _If I were you, I wouldn't be here for when rabid plague bears or festering wolves will come check this place for flesh._

He paused.

 _Or worse... murlocs._

He frowned, standing on the spot stiff like a stick, arms down his side and duck feet.

He swiftly looked at both girls right before twitching his left eye. Flashing a disturbing smile, he then left the house, now only dirty bandages here and there wrapping up his thin, pale body.

The little kal'dorei gestured, helping the still shocked thalassian girl to put on the dirty leather clothes gently offered by their weird savior.

They then both swiftly left the wrecked crime scene behind, trying to keep up with the undead boy, following him through the dark and irrequieting forest.


	4. In the Woods

The shocked girl was feeling choked by a sense of oppression.

She was disoriented, her ears were whislting.

 _Thanks for your help back there_ , she gulped, chewing words in her mouth like a buttermilk delight.  
Her voice was limpid and youthful, but its sweet notes were broken by primordial fear.  
 _If it wasn't for you.. we.. I.._

The dead boy stopped.

He said nothing, maniacally chuckling instead before starting moving once more.

The blood elf young woman nervously looked around. She started looking at the little night elf girl, hoping she would exchange a warm look of solidarity for that utter, reasonless situation.

But reason was an adult thing.

The kal'dorei kid wasn't able to understand the raw language of the orcs spoken by her distant cousin. Instead of feeling curious or upset because of it, she'd just resignedly ignore it. One thing for sure is that she was being the bravest in that confusing circumstance. One tiny hand holding tight the sin'dorei's warm one, the other didn't want to let go of Mr. Button. She seemed not to mentally accuse what happened in the wrecked house. The night lands of Silverpine Forest was not an unfamiliar environment to the night elves, and although the suffocating feeling, the web encrusted trees and the festering stench, the little girl would surely feel less scared and uneasy than any other kid in her same situation.

 _What's your name?_

He stopped again.

Giving his back to the two elves, he raised his eyes as he usually would look down instead, scanning around random objects with no real purpose with a deviated smile on his face. He opened his mouth and inhaled, as if words were to come up his decaying throat. But instead he changed his mind, preventing the air to reach for his void-fuelled lungs as he clenched his teeth in a gnashing bite.

The sin'dorei's heartbeat started to irregularly shifting after her scared mood.

 _Wh- what's your name_ , she repeated, trying to convince herself that the undead couldn't hear her voice.

 _Aunt Rhody calls me Needle._

His left eye twitched.  
His legs marched forward one more time.

His voice didn't sound as decrepit as she was expecting.

The thalassian girl slipped her eyes on the long needles stuck in both undead boy's forearms. His name was probably a reference to all the needles hosted in his forearms. The black leather vest the boy gave her were pretty ruined and dirty, and not much for covering. The young woman just arranged what she could together with what was left of her old clothes in order to prevent possible intruding peeks at her important, sensual lady parts. Some of the first aid bandages and runeclothes she brought with her were rearranged as a provisonal brassiere. Some were used to tie together the remnants of the beautiful thalassian silked pants, barbarically ripped off.

Her eyes wouldn't stop staring at the oddly well preserved yet neglected body of the forsaken.  
Personal hygiene was even utter to compare when talking about a walking corpse, and cuts and scars would still spread here and there adorned by stitches.  
She quickly grew an eye for details and analyzing due to her background.

 _Is that your real name?_

The boy didn't seem to be able to both walk and word sentences at the same time. He nervously started scratching himself, standing still and stiff on the spot.

 _I don't think so. I hope it's not. It's horrible._

For a moment, he looked desperate, grinning in a maniacal way.

But then his facial expression, out of the blue, just went blank once more. He started marching again, head bowing and eyes staring at his own steps.

The sin'dorei girl wasn't feeling comfortable at all. The forsaken didn't seem stable-minded. She feared for her own sake and the one of the little girl.  
He might be able to just suddenly switch mood and attack them.

She tried not to let the silence have the best of the situation.

 _My name is Lywe._

The boy irritably stopped for the fourth time. Without moving any other muscle, he slowly turned his head in a marked creepy way towards the blood elf, who stopped right behind the undead young man, petrified.

 _And what were you doing in there, Lywe?_

She gulped. His tone of arrogance now totally made him sound like a different person.

 _Ah.. I come from Silvermoon City. I-I hired those two orcs as mercenaries to protect me on the way through Silverpine Forest and Hillsbrad Foothills._

 _Well, they were doing a very good job indeed_ , he gestured in a very theatrical way.

 _I.. need to reach Tarren Mill to meet with an aquintance of mine. If only.._

 _I couldn't care less_ , he smiled.

And what's with the young lady over here? He switched visual on the little kaldorei, booping her nose with the bare boned tip of his left pointing-finger.

The night elf kid shook her nose, keeping her eyes innocently on the boy as she wasn't able to understand the topic of the argument.

 _We found her in the woods being chased by a skitterweb lurker. I can't speak darnassian nor common, so I still couldn't have any conversation with her..  
_ _But I decided to take her with me until we find her family or whoever she was traveling wi-_

 _WHAT? ARE YOU NUTS_ , the boy climaxed a desperate cackling in a shouted retorical question, springing towards the blood elf, holding her tight by the shoulders.

She noticed, in the dismay, his pretty long eyeleashes almost as long as her own.  
She gulped with her teeth clenched, not knowing how to react.

He then suddenly let her go, then started laughing nervously, hands on his face in a very dramatic pose.  
He recomposed the previous posture and resumed walking.

 _Druids, bears, beasts_ , he muttered. He softly let out what resembled swearing, probably in gutterspeak.

 _W-where are we going now?_

 _WE? There is no 'we'_ , he said panting anxiously.

 _Leave me alone. Who are you again? Ah, the.. the little girl, we_ , he paused. _We can't take her back to Brill. A-Ah.. I.. Oh no, we can't._

The blood elf was totally left speechless as he seemd to start panicking.

 _No no no no no no no no no. They are going to eat her alive. And if Gordo finds us before we even get there? WORSE. WORST._

One more obsessive laughing culminated in these two last words. He seemed to be experiencing another personality disorder attack, holding his head with both his hands.

Lywe wanted to just run away with the little girl, as trying to kill him with her dagger might turn out unsuccessful. But the thought preventing her from doing so was that whatever was out there lurking in the unfamiliar shadows of the forest could have been even a thousand times worse than that.

She battled her shaking. All her life she's always been a strong girl in a men's world. But this was way too much, altogether. For what she knew, she and the night elf could both be stabbed at any time for no apparent reason. She didn't know if she would be able to protect both herself and the kal'dorei child.

Meanwhile, the little girl calmly stared at the two grown ups, holding Mr. Button tight against her chest.

The dead lad let go of his head. He slowly raised it and stared at the darkness in front of him. He exhaustingly blinked his eyes.  
His cold, left hand posed across his face. A tingling in his brain pierced through the chaos of his mind.

The sound of a tear drop hitting water surface.

 _I'm sorry._

He stood up once more, approaching the immobile beautiful but stress marked young woman. He grabbed her other hand, carefully choosing to do that with his right one in order not to cut or scratch her with his bare bone clawed hand. She flashed a look at it, noticing his black nails, before switching back with eyes glued to him.

 _Lywe._

The girl froze at the sound of her name. Her shimmering emerald eyes widenly stared in surprise at the blank, ghostly ones of the undead boy. The necrotic magic made it hard to localize the dead pupils, but after a while she could clearly notice them.

 _Don't take her with you to undead outposts._

All of a sudden, for apparently no reason at all, the twisted undead now seemed to be replaced by something else.  
Something.. human.

 _Gilneas might be our only chance to deliver her safely, but we can't get too close. Oh, no. Worgen are vicious and hulking, their senses way too sharp.  
_ _They don't need a pretext to attack, and the war going on with the unliving made them even more merciless. The Banshee Queen is trying to claim what's left of their kingdom, so it's not much safe.._

He took a moment to ponder. __

 _Now that I think of it, I am pretty sure that citizens who are not joining the Liberation Front are being sent safely on ships straight to Darnassus.  
The little girl might be involved in something.. or.. well, it's the most logical thing I can think of._

 _Logic_ , she wondered.

He glanced at the little girl.

 _Also, not to mention that the Bloodfang hold no diplomacy towards official members of the Alliance. So, she wouldn't be spared.  
_ _These forests are too dangerous to be stalked by two fragile girls like you.  
I_, he paused. _I will help you approaching the walls as much as we can._ _It's the best we can do for her._

Lywe felt goose bumps as she looked straight at the boy's concerned glancing towards the kal'dorei kid.  
His broken voice suddenly sounded like a reassuring man's, determined to protect them both.

He saved us, she thought.  
He gave her a doll. He gave me his clothes. He can't be this bad after all. Or can he? I don't know. I mean, I don't know. I never really thought about it. Nor cared. How must it feel like to be a forsaken..? I wonder what he had to go through. What kind of man he was before.. before he died? Was he just like this..? Would I be any different or better if I died myself and be reborn from undeath? I wonder what his name really is. Did he have a family? His face is.. I think like it. He doesn't look too much.. dead? Meleon told me once. Rumored rituals the Dark Lady has been practicing over fallen corpses because they can't procreate. Which means he can't use..? His skin is so pale.. I wonder how it feels like touching it. Ah. His hand is cold.

The sin'dorei young woman looked down at the young lad's left hand, showing his ripped off flesh on the tips.  
She felt disgust.

 _Whatever I do or say, please forgive me and don't mind it. Don't walk off from me and don't leave me alone._  
 _As long as you stick with me, I won't forget._

Lywe turned her eyes once more to his, completely putting aside the revulsion for that trivial detail.  
She started feeling disturbingly attracted by that firm, deep voice that awkwardly wasn't matching at all his portrait.

The young man crouched and gently posed his right pointing-finger flexor tendon under the kal'dorei girl's chin.

 _We'll take you home_ , he spoke common to the night elf with a warm smile.

The child's face brightened. She nodded enthusiastically.

Lywe didn't understand, but couldn't stop feeling surprised by him every moment.  
He would not forget the human language after all.  
Whatever he told her, the little kaldorei seemed reassured.

 _Don't leave me alone_ , he said with one last glance at the mesmerized blood elf girl.

And the restless stalking would start all over again.


	5. Broken Watch

_My name is Sheanna_ , the kal'dorei child softly let out, holding tight Mr. Button as she was sitting on the boy's lap.

Lywe created a camp fire through one of her runes. She purchased some from the Silvermoon City bazaar, to carry them in her journey to Tarren Mill inside her glamorous thalassian style bag. The silk had all been ruined and dirted after eveyrthing she went through.

The boy was staring at the flames, listening to the cracking sound of the woods.  
He could feel no warmth.

 _I like it_ , the boy smiled.

 _What is yours?_

A smile that slowly faded.

 _I can't remember._

 _You can't remember your name?_

 _I can't remember my name. I can't remember who I was. One day I just woke up like this._

 _That's ugly_ , the little kal'dorei struggled. Common wasn't her first language.  
 _You don't remember the family?_

I don't.

The blood elf young woman was trying toiling to cover what was laid bare of the ripping from her outfit. She started feeling grumpy, degraded in her dignity as there was literally nothing else to wear. The only solution would have clearly included heading to an outpost or a forsaken village in order to purchase proper clothing. But she couldn't afford to risk the life of a child for something like that. As she convinced herself to hang on, she would listen to the two speaking common unable to understand a single word but still happy for how the situation was notably improving in terms of general mood.

 _Uncle Ryethil say your people bad. I heard he tell my sister that every people of Horde is bad and no heart._  
 _But you are good. You saved us from bad orcs._

 _I am not good_ , he smiled.

 _I don't care what say you are.  
You saved us and you are helping us and you don't want nothing back from us.  
_ _Do you?_

Needle shook his head.

Lywe couldn't understand a word, but she tasted empathy for the forsaken's broken voice as he apathically talked with the little night elf, resignation painting his pale, cold face.

 _Then we can be friends. If you are good with me, I am good with you!_

 _Ok._

 _And thank you for this doll. Does it have name?_

 _He's called Mr. ,_ he flickered his tongue on the 'r', hesitating for a second in remembering the correct word to translate _, ..Button. I made him._

Button _, she giggled.  
I like him a lot._

Unto his unfeeling emptiness, the boy could sense something was actually warming up his dusted heart.

 _Will you keep him even when you'll be gone?_  
 _Will you remember me?_

 _How can I forget you,_ Sheanna innocently snickered.

Lywe couldn't help but smile at the kal'dorei's tender laughing, although she didn't know the reason. She bited her lip, restraining herself from asking the undead what they were talking about, not want to interrupt and ruin that moment of complicity.

 _Besides, me and Mr. Buttons are best friends now!_

The boy romantically stared at the little joyful girl. His emotions battled his undeath apathy unsuccessfully.  
Death is cold and merciless, and his post-mortem trauma didn't allow him to feel anything. Creepy hands in his subconscious would just drown any feeling who wanted to reach for his heart. Yet something was desperately choking his heart. A familiar face, a familiar voice. That unconditioned love for someone important. A little sister, perhaps?

Help me.

 _Sheanna, what were you doing in this forest? Darnassians have nothing to do with Silverpine and what's left of Lordaeron._  
 _The only thing I can think of is some link with the worgen curse, aiding humans to run away. I know your people share druidic magic with Gilneas inhabitants._

The night elf child's mood swinged.

 _I don't understand,_ she shook her head.  
 _My sister wouldn't tell me anything.  
_ Her eyes shined bright in the moonlight with restrained tears. _  
I miss her a lot._

 _Were you traveling with her?_

 _Yes. Big spiders attacked us and I lost sight with the others._

 _So you weren't just you and your sister?_

 _No, we came along with Ryethil and his friends. But I told you, I don't know what we came here for.. it's just so scary.._  
The kal'dorei little girl sighed.  
 _I was scared of that spider and I ran away and I was scared, I swear.. I was very scared and I didn't want to be eaten!_

 _It's okay,_ the boy told her with reassuring voice.  
 _Nobody wants to be eaten by a spider. I am sure your sister would agree with us_ , he said with extremely tired eyes and a smirk on his face.

All of a sudden, he could notice the blood elf intense eyes on him.  
The forsaken and the sin'dorei shared a quick glance. She felt a shrivel down her spine.

 _She's said she's traveling with her sister, and got lost in the forest because she was chased by a skitterweb._

A skitterweb?

 _It's a giant spider, typically lurking in proximity of caverns._

 _Oh.._ , she gulped.

 _Then the two orcs saw me and killed the spider with their big axes,_ the little girl continued in common _. And she saved me_ , the child pointed at the sexy laying figure of the blood elf.

Lywe swiftly bounced her staring between the boy and the little elf in nescience.

 _But then.. then when we entered the house they started hurting her.. and I don't know why but they took off her clothes and I didn't like it and they wouldn't stop,_ she frowned. _And they wouldn't understand me and I didn't want and I started screaming but he hit me.._

She paused.

 _And then you came._  
The little girl turned her eyes, looking for the sin'dorei's as if she could understand what that meant for her aswell.

The fresh memory of the kills came afloat.

The boy felt pleasant shriveling going up his spine.  
The sound, the sensation of a blade sinking into flesh.  
The spilling blood.

He clenched his teeth excidetly, maniacally.  
His fingers started moving uncontrollably.

The sweet taste of death.

Luckily, nobody noticed.  
He blinked twice, and regained composure.

The little Sheanna started cuddling up against the boy's chest.  
She touched carefully his bare cold skin. He glanced at him, who would stare instead at the fire, and then started whirling her pointing-finger next to his right greyed out nipple covered in bandages.

 _Are you dead?_

 _Yes._

 _How long are you dead?_

The boy froze in silence. The little girl looked up, barely holding a only view of the forsaken's chin.  
He then searched a little leathery pouch hanging from his waist. He took out a rusty silver pocket watch. It looked damaged.  
The forsaken opened it with a clic, pressing its top.  
The glass was broken. The pointers were stuck in an eternal loop, trying unsuccessfully to advance.

 _Feels like since forever_ , he bitterly said while staring at the trinket.

The child curiously leaned forward to examine the broken watch.

 _Where did you find it?  
_  
 _This?_

He paused. __

 _Oh, well, this, it was a gift I received long time ago._  
 _It was given to me by my grand-father when I found out to have one.  
_  
 _So you do remember your family_ , she exclaimed excitedly.

 _Of course.. this has a lot of meaning to me._  
 _A token to carry on in the name of our family._

Sheanna nodded, innocently trusting the words of the forsaken and taking them into heart as if it was a personal matter of hers.

Lywe was charmed by the boy's current behaviour, but at the same time she was scared of his double face.

Elves have always been attracted to men, and considered the boy luckily disposed of a pretty well intact body, the blood elf young woman couldn't deny herself the feeling ofsome weird turmoil around her stomach. He wasn't really manly, instead androgynous in look. He might have died around the age of twenty, she thought.

Without realizing, she started getting closer to him as she kept feeding her curious staring.

The contrast between his very pale skin and his dark tar hair was something totally out of the elven look standards. He had long eyeleashes, a little nose and greyed out lips.

That didn't make him any less disturbing, though.

The boy turned his head, emotionlessly staring back at the thalassian girl's eyes that were scanning him.

Stitches and scars here and there laying through the dirty bandages covering his body. No matter what, her eyes would always end up slipping to his left finger tips. Whatever he or they did to them, they were completely ripped off for good. The pointy bones sticking out were probably used as a weapon in case of emergency. They were a creepy detail Lywe couldn't bring herself to ignore.

 _Do your fingers.. hurt?_

 _No._  
The boy closed the pocket watch at once, reposing it inside the pouch without taking his ghostly eyes off her.  
 _Nothing does._  
He turned his staring back to the flames. He would take a stick and play with it with his hands, focusing on scratching the bare wood with his bone-claws.

 _.. you sound different._

Lywe finally said that.

 _Earlier when I tried to talk with you.. are you okay? Look, I don't want to sound rude and I don't really know if it's normal or_ , she paused, nervously touching her hair.  
 _I don't want any harm from you, not to me nor to the girl._

 _I understand that_ , he smiled.

The little kal'dorei was still cuddled up against his chest, unable to follow the dialogue spoken in orcish.

 _Like I told you,_ the boy continued, _I just need you girls to stick with me. I won't harm you. I just want to help. Let me help._  
 _This is no place for a little girl like her in this land. Frankly, It's not a place for you either.  
_ He paused. _  
This place is hollow and dark,_ he glanced at the surrounding.  
 _Misery, suffering. Disease of the heart and mind festers here_.

He turned his head towards the blood elf, his neck cracking.

 _It's a good place to die._

Lywe gulped. He was way too dark. No matter how much she wanted him to be human, he wasn't.  
Not anymore.

 _Her name is Sheanna, by the way_. The forsaken let go of the stick to poke the kaldorei's nose with his intact finger. He enjoyed doing that. Probably a dead memory within him recalled that gesture with a lost beloved.

The sin'dorei's eyes shimmered through the flames of the camp fire.

 _Oh my, what a lovely name_ , she smiled.

She completely closed the gap between her and Needle now. She gently caressed the girl who chuckled in complicity.  
The boy moved his eyes on the beautiful face of the blood elf. Her matching long eyebrows and messy hair were extremely arousing, but the boy couldn't perceive it.

Ah.

She looked like a mirage, small pointy nose, faint glowing pale green eyes. Her smile was cutting in half a little scar. It was located on the left end of the lips.  
Her curves, looked up so close, were a bliss for the eyes to feast. But the undead wasn't staring for lust. Recollection shriveled down his spine.

No.

Lywe noticed his staring, and blinked twice very quickly. She felt embarassed and checked if her arranged bra was doing its job. Then stared once more at the intense capturing eyes of the boy. The killing stench coming from the boy felt like drastically faded. Butterflies strongly started dancing within her stomach for a moment.

No, please.

The young undead opened his eyes wide. His hand moved automatically.

No.

Lywe felt a caress on her left side of the head, gently driving her hair behind her long pointy ear. The boy posed his cold hand back to her cheek, now holding it.  
She froze in terror.

He wasn't there anymore.  
He was not dead anymore.  
He could feel.  
Familiar faces.  
Familiar smells.  
A gentle breeze kissing his face.  
He slowly gulped. His irregular breath followed his frowning.

You cannot leave.

Lywe understood that something was wrong.

What is happening to him..?  
Is he remembering someone.. or is he losing control..? she thought.

Overwhelmed by a mix of empathy and awe, she quickly reached with her hand for his, closing it against her soft cheek.

Turn it off.

The forsaken's facial expressions resetted.  
He slowly removed his hand from her face, leaving the blood elf in an irrequieted curiosity.  
He stared at his own palm.

Everything happened pretty quickly.

Sheanna talked without realizing what was going on.

 _She smells of raspberry. She reminds me of my sister! What's her name?_

 _Lywe._

 _What?_ the sin'dorei curiously asked.

 _No, she asked me what's her name.. what's your name, sorry._  
The boy struggled at switching languages for a moment, posing his hand across his face for what just happened to him.

 _Tell her that I like her name!_

 _She uh likes your name_ , the undead lad translated for the blood elf.

Lywe brought her fingers to unsuccessfully cover her smile since they were completely flexed and detached one another.  
It was very childish of her, the boy thought.

 _Sheanna, do you want more rabbit? Are you still hungry?_

The kal'dorei little girl shook her head. She could feel her eyelids as heavy as stones.

He turned his head towards Lywe.

 _You girls should rest, then. We are avoiding main roads, so tomorrow we will have to cut through the river that connects to the lake._  
 _It will also be a good pretext to wash and eat some fish, if we're lucky._

The elves probably got used to the death scent coming from the undead boy that they couldn't really smell it anymore.  
The night elf child found a very comfortable position to sleep on the lap of the young man.

Lywe watched her a bit disappointed, hoping to be chosen as the sleeping partner by the little kal'dorei instead of that creepy forsaken.  
Thinking about it she shrugged and smiled, trying to make herself comfortable aswell on the cold and stiff grass, her head laying on her bag.

She glanced at the boy, who was staring motionless at the flames of the camp fire.

He would not sleep.

The dead don't sleep.

She let out an empathetic sigh, then slowly fell asleep with her eyes glued to the undead vigilant shadow.


	6. Morning Baths

Silverpine was shrouded in ghostly mists: it seemed the night would never leave. The sun hardly managed to break through the tall, silver-barked pines towering the over grassy knolls. The dawn sparkled the sky above the haunted woodland.

Lywe woke up feeling the warm gracile body of the night elf, cuddled up against her own.

The camp fire residues were cold; the forsaken wasn't there.

She looked around, bitterly gulping in a contrasted feeling of relief and despair.

Sheanna graciously stood up, stroking her eyes. She paused for a moment, studying the ground.  
There it was.  
She crouched and grabbed her tiny new favourite rag doll.

How could he really leave?  
He told me not to leave him alone, Lywe thought.  
He said to stick together.  
Why would he leave?  
He said he would help.. he-

Two strong gasps pierced the silence in unison.  
The forsaken fell from the tree above the camp fire rests, landing next to the surprised girls.

Lywe hastly entered a defensive stance, instinctively hiding the little girl behind her while her hand reached for her dagger. _  
By the-  
_

 _We should get moving,_ he cut her sentence. _  
The path to the river is clear._

The blood elf sighed.  
Too much stress to handle.

Unnatural howling echoed among the sickly and dying trees.  
Mossy overhangs shivered in the cold morning breeze.

The two girls followed the restless steps of their undead guide.

Lywe glanced at the boy.

He's too far away from us.

She thought about his words.

Stick with me. I won't forget.

She quickly caught up with him, forcing the little kal'dorei to struggle to keep up with the walking rhytm.

Don't leave me alone.

 _Hey_ , she reached for his shoulder.

The boy slowly turned his head, confusedly looking at the girls.

Oh, no.

 _Are you okay, t_ he sin'dorei asked perplexed.

 _Yes, why_ he asked back, stareing apathically at the sweet young lady's eyes.  
 _The river_ , he pointed forward without getting his eyes off her.

The water was running clean and limpid, emitting a peaceful and relaxing flowing sound in contrast with the gloomy surroundings.

Lywe approached it with a sigh of relief. Holding her left arm, she closed her eyes to listen to.  
Honey sweet memories of the enchanted forest of Eversong.

Home.

She opened her big green eyes once more.  
She felt so far away from it.

Sheanna innocently stripped herself completely naked, free from the feather adorned dress her sister supposedly made for her with love, dashing inside the cold water and leaving Mr. Buttons to guard her clothes.

Kal'dorei are a very ancient race, and due to complicated and hard past deeds they had to endure in the course of history, they grew emotionally grey and generally calm. This little child, although, really seemed to gush like crazy as a reminder that children are free of gender, race or time. Her pale blue skin made her look like a doll, except for the bruise of the past day. Her hair didn't take long to get wet completely.

Needle clumsily joined the little girl, moving his legs to walk around as if he wasn't enjoying the gentle massage of the river.

The sin'dorei uselessly worried for a moment that the child was completely naked next to the forsaken. She wasn't feeling comfortable at all, but she felt relieved that Sheanna was in such an unrealistic good mood. As noble as thalassian culture was, elves couldn't resist much without their personal hygiene being take care of.  
And although it wasn't the best to strip in front of a twisted personality such as that boy, she forced herself to trust him and the circumstances.

She grabbed and searched through her bag, her hair hanging forwards as her head was bowing to better look for whatever she was looking for.  
And here it is.  
Lywe was a girl and, altough acting tough through most of her life, she always liked to cure her femininity.

She purchased perfumed washing oils in Silvermoon City from botanist Nathera, where her mother would always go to buy that perfume of vanilla she used to wash her with when she was the age of Sheanna.

 _Here, take this and wash yourself with it_ , she told the little girl handling her the small bottle, finally stepping inside the fresh running waters.

The night elf didn't need to understand her words to grab the glassed jar and guess what to do with it.  
She gently spread the oil all over her own tiny body.

 _You'll smell like a real lady with this!_ Lywe told her winking, ruffling her wet hair.

Sheanna giggled, giving back the bottle and going back to play with the water and chasing fishes.

The blood elf glanced at the goofy figure of the forsaken, who was cluelessly studying at the gilled fauna swimming nearby his consumed feet, with his left pointing-finger claw in his mouth just like a pondering infant.

Lywe took advantage of that to undress for a quick bath.  
She delicately unwrapped her breasts, freeing their perfect round shape by the runecloth. She automatically drove her arm to cover her chest, but after seeing that the forsaken wasn't actually interested in taking a peek of her curves, she proceeded with taking off her whole outfit completely.  
She carefully didn't wet the vest given to her by the boy and elegantly threw everything, including her dagger, on the riverside grass.

 _Ah.._

Finally, she could taste a refreshing moment since she left her beloved city, feel the tension being rinsed away.  
She dived completely, her bright white-blonde hair dancing within the water.

The shadow of a fish.

She quickly closed her legs, instinctively.

Under water, nothing mattered: only that soft, delicate sound of pure magic. A relaxing chill spiked her entire body, interrupted only by the needing of oxygen. She carefully reemerged her head only, her long ears straight up, trying not to be noticed by Sheanna and the forsaken as she stared at them.

The kal'dorei little girl stopped and forced Needle to crouch where they could both touch. Using a bracelet she crafted herself with clam pearls gathered along Darkshore's beach probably before setting sail to Gilneas, she tied the boy's hair in a tiny pony-tail.

 _I like your hair. It's strange but I like._

 _Aunt Rhody told me that I have to be careful with it. She said that if I cut it, it won't grow back.  
_

 _Who is she?_

 _Someone I don't ever want you to meet._

 _Why?_

 _You'd honestly prefer being eaten by that skitterweb._

 _Why,_ she giggled.

 _I don't want to talk about it,_ he said bringing his bare boned finger tips to his mouth, chewing them.

 _But is she really your aunt? So she's your family?_

The boy stopped and took a moment to answer. He looked down and started playing with the water using his pale hands.

 _I hope not.  
_

Sheanna turned around the crouched undead and reached for his face with both her tiny hands.

 _You look pretty_ , she said with an innocent smile, now kissing his forehead.

Lywe tried to look closely, as the little girl's gesture had her curious.

 _But she's prettier!_ she pointed at the blood elf, busting her.

The boy turned his attention to the sin'dorei, having her diving her head in the water.

He glanced back at the little night elf: he noticed a weird flower symbol like a red tattoo decorated her right arm, just below her shoulder.

 _What is it?_ the boy asked with the same finger stuck in his mouth and his head rotated in curiosity.

 _This is dal-dieb, it means 'sister'._

He didn't say anything but raised his left eyebrow.

Sister.

He stood up, heavily dripping.

Unlike the elves, he didn't take off the bandages covering his body as hygiene wasn't a real concerne for him.  
The needles planted in his forearms shimmered, reflecting the light that bounced through the river.  
The long scissor blade was well secured to his left leg, somewhat similar to Lywe's right leg's sheath.

He wouldn't take it off even in the water; his only belonging he cared to spare from water was the leather pouches he carried, containing herbs, reagents and trinkets together with his broken watch. Although innocent and childlike in look, his deviated mind developed a natural affinity with distilling susbtances and poison crafting. His new cold and mechanical brain would enable him to effortlesslly memorize each herb and related properties.

 _Get dry now or you will catch a cold,_ he said while cracking his back bones with his hands pressing on his rotating waist.  
He lifted the dripping little naked body of the girl by her hips and clumsily took her outside the water with him.

Lywe, still pretty shocked by the episode of attempted rape, started shaking without even realizing.  
Saliva was becoming dry in her mouth, but she focused on not losing a hold of her mind as she kept applying the perfuming oils all over her perfect shaped elfic body.

After sharpening a stick's point with his long scissor blade, Needle started hunting for fishes in the river. His clumsiness suddenly shifted to wild accuracy.  
Swift strikes pierced the waters. The poor sagefishes didn't stand a chance. Sheanna was joyfully cheering his success jumping on the spot still completely waiting to get dry before wearing back her clothes. In the morning, climate was pretty mild in that forest in opposition of what one would expcet.  
As if the mist would soffucate even air.

The blood elf eventually managed to successfully clean her whole body, defeating her unnoticed discomfort due to shock.

It wasn't so hard, she thought.  
I just need time, I suppose.  
Now I just head for my clothes a-

A cold hand reached for her arm, interrupting her flow of thoughts in a freezing awe.  
Bare-boned finger tips slowly posed on her soft skin in order from the index to the pinky.

The sin'dorei turned her head with her mouth wide open, accompanied by a loud gasp. A gasp that didn't last long, as the other pale hand of the dead reached for her mouth to shut it.

Lywe couldn't believe that. She couldn't believe that was happening.  
Her worrying really was worth every last drop.

The forsaken started to back off, carefully.

Not a sound but the water's.

A long-snouted reptile, massive in lenght and covered in thick, rough scales that ran from the end of its tail to the tip of its maw was silently staring at them from the other side of the river. Mottled green in color with yellowish fangs, the beast was supported by six squat legs with webbed feet, each of which would end in short, black claws.

Lywe finally noticed the menacing amphibious predator.  
Every other mischievious assumption completely wiped out in a second.

He moved his hand from her arm to her belly, forcing her to lean her naked back on his own chest.

Slow steps back in the flowing of the water.

A nightingale chirped.

Sheanna was lying down on the stiff grass just like the forsaken told her to do, terrified at the thought of what could happen if the crocolisk would choose to attack.

Needle finally reached for the kal'dorei little girl, freeing Lywe who would not take her eyes off the giant sized animal.  
The boy crouched with a hand on the grass, staring back at the beast with focused eyes.  
The reptile wouldn't move an inch, and if it wasn't for occasional tail swift swinging, one could almost think it was dead.

The young man gestured the elves to gather their stuff and get away from there as quickly as they could, and so they did.


	7. Sweet Reunion

_I've..._  
Lywe sighed.  
 _I've never seen such a big crocolisk_ , she said with her hand on the dagger sheated on her right bare thigh.

The blood elf had to dress up with that little of clothing she had in a hurry.  
Hastly walking, she was trying to adjust her breasts, holding softly a thalassian fabric scrunchie in her bite.

 _It's unusual to find one nearby the river. Those beasts live in the marshes not far from the Greymane Wall.  
That one probably got lost or something_, Needle pondered out loud, chewing nervously his left middle bare boned finger.

The sin'dorei beauty finally took the scrunchie out of her sensual lips to tie her wildly wet silver hair, now reaching for Sheanna's tiny hand.

The little kal'dorei didn't really seemed to be bother by the wild encounter, as the poor girl probably had previously seen worse situations.  
She was just relieved that Mr. Button was safe.

 _We have to cross the river in a clear spot now_ , the forsaken nervously chuckled, squinting his eyes in thought.  
He was carrying four sagefishes with him, ones he managed to catch with his improvised wooden spear.

Sheanna was feeling hungry. _  
They look mmh,_ she said as she pushed her little pointing finger against her cheek in a rotating manner.  
 _  
You can eat them later when we make the camp fire_ , he switched language to common, turning Sheanna's way with a disquieting smile.  
You could tell, although, that he was surely trying his best. The child glanced at the boy's ponytail she carefully made for him, then looked back at the young man's ghostly eyes. She smiled innocently, nodding.

The sin'dorei liked how the boy often made sure to keep the kal'dorei's mood up, even if she wasn't able to truly understand any word.

Common was spoken by high elves during their allegiance with the Thoradin's humans, in order to vanquish the wild trolls of the Amani empire.  
In exchange, the elves would teach a hundred humans the use of magic. After the threat was pushed away and the alliance born out of reciprocal interests undone, the elves didn't have any reason to preserve the common language knowledge.

Lywe came to life in this world too late to even really have any chance to listen to common spoken conversations. Before this journey, that is.

The blood elf had turmoiled feelings for the forsaken. A twisted killer who brutally murdered two orcs, suffering from personality disorder attacks and random histerical cackling. She never really met many forsaken, so she wondered if each and every one of them were deviated just like him.  
But on the other hand, he was also the hero who saved her and a little child belonging to a faction roughly at war with them.  
An oddly feminine attractive, although undead, young man who swore to help her delivering the little girl safely, risking to be both caught and condemned for faction betrayal.

Faction betrayal?

Who would actually care for them to be carrying a kal'dorei child anyway, especially in a forest like that? She could just be a prisoner or a slave.  
No, she told herself. They wouldn't actually risk to be condemned for apparently carrying a night elf child with them.

Nobody really cares who you are or what you do.

What truly matters is selfishness.  
Factions, races; labels laid around for convenience.

Lywe switched her thoughts once again on the undead.

She felt like her body was still shocked from what was about to happen to her in the fisherman's abandoned house if it wasn't for the psycho-boy.

Needle wasn't very muscular in life, or particularly masculine and rough like most of men. Still, he had that something, that veil of mystery about who he really is, who he was before death, that really intrigued the blood elf. She couldn't deny herself somewhat of a deviated, clandestine attraction towards that human presence who seemed to be resurfacing with teeth, since the two girls crossed the unliving boy's path.

But at the end of the day, he was just too weird and unstable.

She pondered a lot about the true meaning of being forsaken, the atrocity of dying and being brought back without being asked, risking no recollection of who you were.

Undeath is consuming if you don't hold any link to your past.

You aimlessly walk around with no real purpose or place to call home.  
That's what Needle has been doing ever since he's been raised from the dead.

And this was the case for the new generation of Sylvanas' army.

In the beginning, forsaken would just be mindless zombies, enthralled by Ner'Zhul, craving to kill everything that moved.  
The boy wasn't the first or the unluckiest undead there was.

He only disposed of very few floating memories, each of which would only confuse and upset him even more.  
And this is where a man's worth and resolve would make a difference in undeath: how strong you are to react to your new condition.

Needle, or whatever his true name was, surely wasn't strong.

He could only express himself through violence and death in a viscid way, often resorting to the use of poisons and concealing.  
He would kill because that's the only thing that he felt to belong to.  
The only thing that defined him.

Torment and suffering twisted his mind and froze his heart, rotting in dust.  
He was only a deranged psychotic shell of what he used to be.

But Lywe noticed something was happening inside of him.  
His humanity was finding back belay in the feminine touch and warm contact of the two girls.  
She thought she could find out more about him, this way; puzzle his past out.

She truly wanted a reason to like him.

Girls are complicated.

Although she was feeling momentary repulsion for the rape episode, her heart was unchained.  
But for what purpose, she thought? It's not like she really could like a forsaken in that way, after all.  
A living being can never love a forsaken.

Lywe was indeed one pretty complicated girl.

Even if she was graceful and womanly, people who had the pleasure to know her surely are aware of her boyish style and manners.  
Due to her hard past, she has been forced to play the role of the man almost all of her life. The sin'dorei fashioned bag and the perfumed oil were just an excuse to feel girly because she liked to remember her mother's habits.

But overally, the blood elf was nothing truly lady like behind appearence.  
She never really had the opportunity of big speeches with Needle, but face to face she was a pretty stubborn and quite tempered girl who doesn't like to lose or be stepped on.

She didn't expect the two mercenaries to do what they did, and she's been off-guard and tilted since then.  
She felt her pride bleeding as she thought about it.

She clenched her teeth, posing her right thumb on a scar that was piercing her sensual lips.

And then, a furious rustling in the dead of the mist.

When she finally set her mind back to reality, she noticed the undead boy in front of her stopped.  
She quickly glanced at Sheanna. The steady little girl was studying the surroundings, moving her long ears like antennas.

Almost there.

Needle slowly turned his head with cracking bone sounds towards the girls, with his eyes staring at the ground, nowhere in particular.

Silence.

He finally lifted his look to the elves who would glance back at him.  
He let out an histerical laughing.

 _For a moment_ , he cackled.  
 _For a moment I think I he-_

Before realizing, poor Needle had his stomach trapped in the bite of a huge, albino, long eared bear.  
After rabid face swings, mangling the abdomen of the forsaken for good, the giant animal let go of him to send him flying far away.

He transversally hit the closest tree and roughly landed motionless in the dirt.

 _NO_ , Lywe esclaimed terrified.

Sheanna started screaming in an horrific trantrum, carelessly dropping Mr. Button to the ground and running towards the direction of the lying young man, ignoring the wild animal who wouldn't consider her at all.

A slim, feminine shadow slipped through the stiff grass, coming out of the black forest to catch the little girl from behind, like a wild lioness would pounce on a tiny gazelle pup.

The blood elf, without even thinking, hastly unsheathed her dagger to move towards the tiny kal'dorei at the rescue, but immediately froze in place as the giant weird white haired bear blocked the way, savegely roaring at her.

Lywe stared at the colossal menacing figure of the grizzly, hoplessly aiming the dagger at it with a fading firm hand, occasionally glancing at Sheanna.  
Sweat falling from the side of her forehead. Her shimmering eyes wide open. The ponytail kept her hair still.

Darnassian dialect could be heared from the pointy eared shadow holding the girl.

 _TOR'DALAH_ , the kal'dorei child yelled in answer, looking at the immobile lacerated figure of the forsaken.

The mysterious shade, still shrouded in the dark, slowly turned out to be a night elf young woman who was trying to calm the child down, holding her by one arm.  
She probably was as old as the sin'dorei, although it's hard to tell since any elf wouldn't physically age after their twenties.  
In her flow of words, Lywe could only understand the name "Sheanna" in it. She noticed, in that moment, through the feather decorated clothes, that they were both sharing the same weird flower looking tattoo, right beneath the shoulder. Sheanna in her right arm, the other night elf in her left one.

The kaldorei child furiously screamed back in tears at the mysterious girl something incomprehensible for the thalassian scared elf.  
One masculine shadow joined the two, him too calling for the little girl's name in a very placate tone.

The weird painted grizzly wouldn't stop staring at Lywe, maintaining position to probably avoid more violence.  
Needle's meat shreds hung from the teeth of the beast without any blood.

The young sin'dorei girl held still, frozen in fear.  
Her mind went blank.  
She didn't know what to do.

One moment he was here, now he's not.  
She still didn't realize how quickly it all happened.

The strong eats the weak.

There are no exceptions.

Nobody cares who you are or what's your story.

Sheanna finally noticed Lywe once more and realized the threat posed on her. She didn't want to lose her too. With brave strenght, she managed to get free of the anonymous shadow's grasp, heading for the giant animal.

 _Ana'do, falore! Do ash karath_ , the kal'dorei child cried at the vicious grizzly, clinging onto its fur.

After one resigned look at the sorrowed child, the wild beast let out a feeble growl.  
The bear magically turned into a naked, beautiful, white haired night elf with the skin the color of a strange pale pink.

The feminine shadow behind her, looking at the scene, threw a darnassian outfit at her the male was carrying with him.

The druid stole a glance at the blood elf, then walked towards Sheanna and gently kissed her forehead.  
She distanced herself a few steps and started dressing up, completely uncaring of any intruding eyes.

Lywe unfroze her steady stance, now letting out a strong panting. Finally, the hand holding the elegant thalassian crafted dagger lowered.  
Her other hand reached for her forehead without even realizing.  
She stopped to focus on stabilizing her breathing.

Sheanna, knowing that words wouldn't be of any use, closed the gap between her and the sin'dorei in order for a pure, innocent hug to blossom.  
The kal'dorei child rubbed her face at the height of the blood elf's belly.

 _Alah darnana dor. Fandu-dath-belore..?_

Breath in.

The night elf sharing the same tattoo as the little child finally got closer with seemingly kind words, showing her delicate facial features.  
She looked exactly like Sheanna, just older. Instead of short blue hair, she had a very long braid falling down along her chest.  
Right by her side, a male kal'dorei extended one cynical staring at the confused sin'dorei.

 _What_ , Lywe asked between her panting.

 _Dalah ande Sheythis. Anah Ryethil, tor al-_

There.

Asphyxiating noises interrupted the one sided conversation right behind their back.

What trickery is life?

This is what distinguishes the living from the dead.

What is sanity?

Cracking finger bones.

What is insanity?

The druid, who was carelessly trying to dress up, got caught off guard by the revenant young man.

His bare boned fingers were ungraciously laying all over the terrified night elf mouth and face.  
One long half scissor was surgically pointing at her soft, delicate throat, touching but not sinking deep.

Sheanna, her older sister Sheythis and Ryethil froze with their jaws open, looking at the half naked silhouette of their comrade with gaping eyes, unable to do anything for their comrade.

Lywe found herself unwillingly sharing the same reaction of the other elves.

That feeling, the unleashing feeling of stealing a living being's last breath.  
The undead, untainted by the weakness of his lacerated abdomen, now felt excitement taking control over his body.

 _Oh, now count for me.  
Count for me. Count to seven. Backwards._

Cold, dusty words came out.  
The lad spoke the ultimatum in orcish to the confused and scared darnassian druid, not really caring for her to understand nor expecting her to actually do what he asked.

Sink in.

Do it.

 _NEEDLE, NO! PLEASE!_

Sheanna's familiar, sweet, innocent voice resonated within the forsaken's blank mind.

And everything stopped.

His grin vanished.  
The half scissor dropped.  
His creeping dead cold hands retreated from the druid's face, now opening widely after taking few steps back from her.

She collapsed on the ground, touching her throat and panting and coughing in awe.

Sheythis reached for her friend, holding her shoulder and making sure she wasn't hurt.

The forsaken's expression was completely empty.  
He took a look at his palms, now slipping his eyes over his claws.

An histerical chuckle just had its way out of his mouth uncontrollably.  
Both his hands covering his face, he lifted his stare at the sky.

And then silence.

The little girl couldn't stop the tears.  
Letting go of Lywe, she bit her tiny lower lip, frowning.  
After some looking around, she found Mr. Button laying on the ground.  
She lifted her favourite doll from the dirt and cleaned it, now wiping her eyes with a gentle passing of her arm.

Ryethil glanced at the two adult night elves with his fingers spread open, his mouth still not completely closed, now looking back at the twisted maniac.

Lywe finally fell on her knees defeated by stress, her hands covering her little nose and lips, hiding her expression.  
Her eyes shining bright in the rising moon light.

Nobody spoke a word.

Sheanna finally walked slowly towards the boy, interrupting that seemingly unending instant.  
She leaned her tiny head against the boy, her face barely able to hold the twist of emotions a child was never supposed to handle.

 _I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

Needle apologized to her favourite and only little girl, staring at the ground in shame, afraid to look at her.  
He finally brought his hands to hold the considerable wounds on the abdomen region.

No blood.

He felt nothing.

And finally Sheanna exploded in a relieving cry. A loud, childish cry.  
And she cried, she cried a lot.  
In that moment, she became the warmth center of everyone's attention.


	8. Now What?

**AUTHOR NOTE  
The sentences spoken in Darnassian are to give more emphasis to the reality of the scenes.  
FYI, the words actually make sense, as I carefully studied the night elf grammatics in the official game sourced wikia page.  
Enjoy the reading.  
**

* * *

The beautiful shapeshifter finally finished to dress up with her darnassian stylish armor.  
Most of the skin was laid bear, just like night elf fashion dictated, showing cenarion marks over her smooth pink skin.

She tied her silky snow colored long hair with a linen cloth scrunchie.  
The druid clenched her teeth thinking about the feeling of that blade touching her throat, and couldn't stop glaring at the injured forsaken in defiance ever since.

She wrapped her own hand around her throat.

Needle was sitting on a broken silver-barked trunk, playing with his half scissor. He noticed the white, glowing, challenging darnassian eyes on him, and would blankly look back at the night elf.

Meanwhile, Sheythis was standing in front of him with her arms wrapped around little Sheanna's neck. The kaldorei child was making sure Mr. Button didn't suffer any damage like holes or cuts, or that any intruding stiff leaf would pierce through its stuffed body.

 _Asha'karath_ , the elder sister asked the little girl, looking down at the doll she never has seen her sibling holding before.

 _Dalah'surfal_ , the child giggled, hugging Mr. Button as tight as she could, drawing Needle's apathic attention.

 _Mmh?_

 _Fanass, anah ande_ , Sheanna appeased her sister's curiosity moaning, pointing her tiny finger at Needle.

He couldn't understand a word.

The forsaken rotated his head, scratching the top if it with his clawed bones, like he usually would do when confused.

Sheythis stole a glance at the undead boy.  
She didn't like nor trust him.  
Yet, she couldn't ignore the fact that he actually didn't harm the child nor keep her hostage.

And the way her younger sibling cried at the sight of the revenant, surviving such a ferocious aggression?  
There was no way a child would grow attached to a kidnapper.

Luckily, she didn't notice so far the alleviated purple bruise on her cheek. Not enough to forward suspicious or inconvenient questions, at least.

She couldn't still exclude the creepy forsaken and the thalassian young girl had an agenda. They might have heard of the odd reason why a group of kaldorei were stalking the cursed lands of Silverpine Forest.

 _Rodne._

 _Aah?_

 _Ashte'Rodne fanass_ , Sheythis smiled, ruffling the little child's short blue hair from above.

 _Mh-mh_ , Sheanna shook her head, kissing Mr. Button on the mouth, like a princess hoping for a frog to become her charming prince.

Meanwhile, Ryethil approached the young blood elf, who was looking from some steps away at the abdominal injury of the forsaken.  
The latter wasn't caring one bit about it, and she couldn't realize how that was possible.

The kaldorei carefully studied the sin'dorei's figure, then posed his two bags on the ground next to her, now having Lywe glancing at him.  
The leather let out an almost satisfying sound as it touched the rough grass of that haunted forest.

The vibrant green haired, dark skinned male night elf searched one of the backpack, his cold glowing eyes genuinely focused on what he was doing.

The thalassian elf stepped back preventively.

She lifted her eyes, looking for Needle's, as if she was looking for protection.  
The ghostly, apathic staring of the undead lad was already on her.

She looked back at Ryethil. He had a very long beard. His dress looked somehow majestic, with hyppogriph feathers adorning the shoulder armors.  
It was very similar to Sheanna's dress.

Lywe noticed a mesmerizing big sized pearls necklace on him, with a charm the shape of an half moon. Star light shined through it.

Finally, he took out an elegant spare dress.  
It was well tailored, surely crafted by expert hands. It had a purple kilt, with dangling strips of clothes resembling plumes.

Darnassus huntress style, the vest lightly covered the breasts firmly, but left belly and most of the back laid bare, just like the druid's armor.  
Swiftness and agility was a distinctive trait in night elven arts of war and hunt, especially among women. Combat dresses are not supposed to be a hindrance for mobility.

Ryethil leaned his arm, holding the folded clothing on the top of it, much like a butler.

Lywe bounced a confused stare between the vest and the night elf, moving her eyes quickly right and left.

 _Dore_ , the bearded kaldorei ordered the blood elf with a deep voice.

She gently lifted the two pieced dress to take a better look, then glanced at the night elf.

 _Thanks_.

Looking back at Needle, she realized that he probably never stopped watching over them.  
But right after she accepted the generous gift, he finally addressed back his attention to the two sisters.

Lywe took advantage of the moment to go hide behind a tree, not too far away, in order to change clothes without being peeked at.  
Nothing like the carelessness of the druid.

 _He can speak the human language_ , Sheanna enthusiastically stated to her elder sister with a determined look on her pretty childish face.

 _She's my sister, the one I talked to you about!_

 _You speak common?_

 _I guess._

 _Why did you help my sister?_

 _Because he's good!_

 _Beldu, Sheanna. Tor dalah anu'dora._

The little child's face suddenly became grumpy. She crossed her arms, forcing poor Mr. Button to hang.

Sheythis stepped towards the forsaken with a menacing look.  
It was time to leave no doubt.

 _Why did you help my sister_ , she asked once more.

Needle started to feel nervous, like a child being asked about stolen sweets.

The harmony, that established within him thanks to the familiar sensations that were given to him by the moments spent with the little child and the blood elf, was now under attack. This left not much room anymore for the shadow of his former living self, instead feeding his usual undead psychotic behaviour.

 _Don't get too close._

He wouldn't look at her in the eyes.  
He started cracking his finger bones in order by pressing them with his thumb.

 _I don't like when they get too close._

With the other hand, the undead boy started taking out the long needles haunting his arm one by one, just to relocate them not far from the point they were getting extracted; in the process, he was rotating his forearm like a skewer, like if it was just some anti-stress for him.

Something to help him drive away the deviated nervousness.

Crack, crack.

Sheythis stopped, studying the strange behaviour of the undead boy.  
The druid girl and Ryethil approached, surrounding the forsaken.

 _What were you planning on doing to my sister? Where were you taking her?_

Lywe finally came back, splurging that harmonically crafted new dress, unaware of what was going on.  
She also approached, reaching for grumpy Sheanna, while the attention was focused around the undead lad.

The boy stopped playing with his needles.  
 _I was.. I was taking her as close as I could to the Greymane Wall_ , he started scratching himself.

 _And my sister didn't tell you about me? About us? How could I ever have found her again if you delivered her to the worgen? We have not much to do with them in here._

Lywe somehow started feeling annoyed by the tone the kaldorei was using, altho she couldn't know the nature of the argument.

 _I_ , he let out a soft hysterical chuckle. _We.. I thought we couldn't really find anyone in this forest, so I just thought of delivering her to somewhere safe._

He started grinding his teeth, now holding his arms right above where the needle infestation started.

 _He is lying_ , the druid almost barked, getting close with threatening intentions towards Needle, pointing her pale pink finger at him in a defying way.

 _Meris, step back._

 _NO_ , Sheanna yelled.

 _He's good, he helped me!_

 _Sheanna_ , the elder sister thundered at the little girl.

The kaldorei child let out a tantrum, sitting on the ground with her hands grabbing her pointy ears in whim.

Tension raised.

Something was wrong.  
The forsaken started fighting hard to keep control.

Lywe noticed the familiar situation. She sensually walked towards the irrequieting young man sitting on the tree trunk, ignoring the other elves.

 _Are you alright? What's going on..?_

Needle was staring at the ground.  
His hands holding his head.  
His teeth stopped grinding.

 _Turn it off_ , he whispered.

 _What..?_

 _Turn it off.  
Turn.. it.. off._

 _Hey..?_

 _Turn it off_ , he started rising his face toward the elves in front of him.

His look was absent, his eyes the ones of a wraith.

 _Turn it off._

Sheythis, although not understanding orcish, entered a precautive stance due to the weird behaviour of the young pale man.  
Ryethil neared her, whispering something on her left long pointy ear.  
Meris stood in front of little Sheanna, as to protect her.

 _What are you-_

 _Turn. It. Off._

 _Ande'thoras..?_ Sheythis intervened. _  
_

 _Needle._

 _Turn i-_

Lywe suddenly gently reached for the undead boy's cheek, now holding it, forcing him to look at her right in her mesmerizing green shimmering eyes.  
The blood elf was as beautiful as always. Her silver hair wildly set free, her long eyeleashes and her sensual lips. Even the scar made her look so attractive.

The forsaken changed expression, looking like a man waking up from a coma.

He looked around, like if he was trying to put the pieces together.  
His face was now painted with control and determination.

The night elves stood still.

The dead boy took his time. One heavy dusty breath.

 _We found Sheanna running away from a giant skitterweb_ , he said while getting off the broken trunk, intentionally omitting the part of orcs and rape.  
 _So we took her with us_ , he continued, walking among the kaldorei. He stood in front of Meris' glare, as he traded it with a defiant grin. Finally, he walked around her, reaching for the pretty child, sitting on a dirt spot in the middle of the cold, spikey grass.

Sheythis widened her glowing silver eyes, lifting both her long eyebrows, lowering her guard as the death broken but confident voice resonated through the air around her with honesty.  
Ryethil was a cold one, his expression wouldn't change much regardless.  
Meris was still feeding burning challenge within, almost not even paying attention to the actual words coming out of the young man's mouth.

Lywe just patiently stood still next to the trunk, losing herself in private thought as she couldn't follow the conversation even if she wanted to.

 _She didn't know why you dragged her here in the first place,_ he said crouching and petting Sheanna's head.  
 _So we couldn't know how to find you anyway. The idea of taking her to the Greymane Wall, hoping for someone to take care of her, was the best I could think of._

Sheanna leaned to kiss his cheek. Luckily, Needle's skin wasn't decrepit or rotten as most of undeads. He couldn't be blessed by such innocence, otherwise.  
The little girl was naively thinking of asking why he wouldn't talk about the two bad orcs, but her thought were roughly interrupted the moment she looked down at the mangle bloodless wounds decorating his left abdominal region. A rib was almost coming out.

She feebly blinked her eyes, bringing a tiny hand on her mouth.

He sitted next to her, one hand over the lacerated flesh.

 _Does it hurt..?_

 _It doesn't_ , he smiled at her, ruffling her silky blue hair and then touching her bruised tiny cheek, covering it with his thumb's claw.

 _But I could really use some mending and stitches._

He turned his head towards the other night elves.

 _I don't know nor I care what's the reason your kind stepped into this cursed, lifeless forest._

He lied. He actually could think of a couple of things. __

 _But whatever that is, don't overstay. It's just not fair for the little girl._

Sheythis started walking towards him.

 _..I have no bad intention with her or any of you.. and I don't blame you for suspecting us. I just wanted to help because... well, I don't really know why_ , he added, staring at the shadow girl approaching.  
 _But.._

The night elf crouched next to the forsaken. She unexpectedly touched with one hand the dead skin of the boy, next to where his hand was located.

Ryethil took two step closer, wrinkling his nose.

 _Sheythis_ , Meris growled.

 _Your kind is a crime against nature_ , the beautiful kaldorei said, her glowing eyes on the injuries.

A strained wind accompanied a very weak howl.  
The boy felt magical fizzling, trying hard to alleviate and regenerate the death inhibited flesh of his.

 _I don't really trust you or that girl, but I owe you my thanks for saving my sister_ , she said, aiming her eyes to pierce in a provoking way the young man's.

 _Druidic restoration has not much effect on aberrations. But this should keep your wounds closed for a bit.  
I am positive your kin have their own questionable methods to.. heal theirselves._

Aunt Rhody flashed within the mind of the forsaken.  
It wasn't exactly a pleasant recall.

Sheythis lifted her hand from the undead boy's abdomen, leaving a phosphorescent green imprint now slowly fading away.

Lywe silently observed in both curiosity and astonishment.  
Druidic magic is not something common in the lands of Quel'Thalas.  
She pinched her lower lip.

Needle could feel like something funny softly scratching where the girl touched him. It was strange, he thought.  
Being a forsaken doesn't imply, at least not strictly, the loss of tact. It just means that pain or sensations are just pretty much kept away from the mind, which prevents especially twisted personas like him to be unaffected.  
Unfeeling was a state of mind.  
Hybernation.

Every forsaken was mostly a unique case, unlike common prejudice.

They are not all bad or evil. There are good forsaken too. Twisted forsaken, kind forsaken, traumatized forsaken, scared forsaken, brave forsaken.  
Just like humans, as they once were.

 _We have to rejoin the others, now,_ Sheythis considered out loud, turning the way of her comrades. _  
_

Ryethil gathered the backpacks, throwing a bow and a quiver to her.

 _I captured four sagefishes down the river nearby. Two of them are for Sheanna. I promised her._

The elder sister graciously bowed her head down, then swiftly gestured Meris.

The druid snorted, menaciously glaring at the forsaken just like she's been doing since she has been spared by his cold blade.  
She untied her hair, then took her armor off and threw it at Ryethil, who was still kneeling down to settle their stuff, proudly showing her naked body once more.  
Leaves and grass started dancing around her, as a feeble magic flux started whirling around her sensual curves, covering her pale pink skin completely until fur would grow out of her new feline form.

The white panther searched for the fishes who herself caused them to fall on the ground after attacking the boy moments earlier.

Sheanna held Mr. Button real tight, like never before.  
She didn't frown, but her eyes were shining bright.  
She sitted on the lap of the boy under the watchful eyes of her elder sister.

 _Kene'thil surfas_ , she whispered to him.

The pretty doll like child leaned and innocently flashed a kiss on the blank faced forsaken's lips.

The little princess kissed the frog.

Lywe instinctively brought her hand to her slightly opened mouth in surprise.

The other night elves didn't seem to react at all about little Sheanna's act.

Needle clenched his jaw twice hastly, keeping his mouth close.  
His nostrils opened wide for a very unperceivable instant.

A familiar feeling.

The little child reached for his heart and touched it with a finger for a second.

The broken, twisted forsaken and the innocent, playful little kaldorei exchanged one last staring, their face close to eachothers.

The little girl's silver big eyes shimmered, lightly wet by tears.

The ghostly eyes of the boy just hooked into hers like a murderer who realize for the first time that innocence does exist in this world.

Having one hand holding Mr. Buttons tight to her chest, she used the other one to reach for the forsaken's cheek, just like the blood elf did moments earlier.

 _Be good, ok?_

 _Ok._

The kaldorei child sniffed, standing up and heading for Lywe, who was two steps nearby.

She hugged her tightly, and the sin'dorei hugged her back with all the love she had.

 _We will meet again, Sheanna._ _  
_

Hearing the sound of her name, the little girl just looked up and smiled at her.

 _Lywe._

The blood elf smiled back, crowning the child she was starting to get affected to with a kiss.

Meris started running into the forest, with the two fishes hanging from her mouth.

Ryethil stole a cold glance at both the forsaken and the sin'dorei.

 _Please, thank him for the dress for me._

 _She says thank you for the dress_ , the forsaken exchanged apathy with apathy towards the bearded night elf, translating the sentence to common.

The male kaldorei didn't answer, then turned his back to follow the druid, almost like not feeling the weight of the two bags at all.

Sheythis looked one last time at the undead boy and the thalassian girl.

 _Ishnu-alah._

The night elves disappeared, swallowed in the dark mist of the forest.

The two were now alone in the dead howling of the trees.

Lywe sighed.

 _Now what..?_

The boy finally managed to stand up, taking the dirt off his poor bandages and leather pants coverage.

No answer.

The blood elf followed him with her eyes, as he stared blankly at the trees around them and started walking aimlessly, with very slow steps.

A little clam-pearled bracelet reflected the lazy moon shines. He crouched. It probably came off his hair when Meris gently chose to mark him with her fangs and show him how to fly. His cold claws reached for it, his ghost pupils devouring it as he turned it between his hands.

Finally, he wore it on his left wrist.

Standing up, he eventually looked back at the sensual figure of the thalassian elf.

 _Now what.._


	9. Night Walk

The cursed lands of the once Lordaeron were always endlessly and hoplessly enveloped in darkness, no matter how much the sun would shine upon them.  
The mist writhed, searching for a place to take root as night fell over the woods.

 _Are you okay?_

 _I'm okay._

The two finally reached for the main road, walking down all the path to Ambermill.

 _Well I guess things for her went even better than expected, after all.  
As for you.._  
Lywe instinctively bit her bottom lip in bitter empathy, as her eyes slipped on the deep wounds decorating the undead's abdomen.  
 _Are you gonna take care of that?_

The undead feebly looked down at Meris' kind welcome present.  
He slowly glanced at the elf, a deviated grin on his face; and the blank once more.

Lywe didn't want silence to prevail, as they'd both proceed.  
She usually wasn't a real talker, but the situation and the circumstances with her peculiar new guide pretty much led her to instinctively avoid awkward moments at all costs. Not expecting an answer, although her odd but genuine worrying for him, she kept improvising topics.

 _I knew Silverpine Forest was mainly under Sylvanas' control.  
How comes you were worried about worgen so much..?  
And why do you think night elves would come all the way here, so far away from Nordrassil?_

Lywe was unintentionally very elegant in her walking. Her steps would cut through the air, silently.  
And he noticed that.

At first sight, the forsaken looked kind of goofy, his movement jagged and rusty. His tormented wandering reflected the naught and unresting state of mind.

 _Are you a thief?_

 _What?_

 _Are you a thief? Do you steal for a living?  
Have you ever killed?_

 _.. what?_

He was staring at the ground, regusing to make eye contact with her for some reason.  
This time, he would manage to let his words out undauntly moving forward, instead of stopping at every sentence.

His mood was way too malleable, his perception, action and behaviour shifted in a way that sometimes couldn't clearly define him as an individual.

 _Nevermind_ , he quickly answered, a twisted smile painting his pale face.

Lywe gulped, looking like someone who's been read like an open book.

 _The dead is dominating most of this region all the way to Gilneas. There is where battles still rage.  
Nevertheless, Crowley and the Liberation Front do have eyes and teeth among these trees._

 _Crowley? Who are they?_

 _I don't know that much, never had the pleasure to meet him,_ he said scratching his arms nervously _, but as far as I know he's the leader of the Gilneas Liberation Front. But I heard the Banshee had his sister in chains. You see, Sylvanas can't turn worgen into forsaken. They are immune. Their blood is, to literally every sickness aswell. And it so happened that the girl wasn't a worgen. So, there was some sort of trade and in the end Crowley retreated. I must admit, he was a lot of troubles, honestly._

He looked around.

 _And if they aren't from the Bloodfang's pack, some agents from the Front you can still find among these woods.  
The war will not end for something this stupid, am I right?_

He smiled with a deviated grin on his face, as if compassion and feelings didn't belong to him. And that was just the case. __

 _Worgen are very difficult opponents._

He rose his eyes.

 _Yet,_ he added _, they die just like everyone else._

Fresh memories reached for Needle's nervous system, sending excitement chills all over his body.  
He would feel good.  
Unjustified, merciless killing.  
The memory of how he killed that worgen not so far away from there still haunted his mind like a twisted dream.  
Back there, the worgen found him and chase him.  
He started it.  
But Needle didn't kill for survival.  
He would kill because he liked it.

Crafting deadly mixtures, diving his blades into them. No matter the circumstances or the reasons: he would enjoy everything about killing.  
Every horrid piece of it.

Stop.

He paused, dragging Lywe's attention.

 _Is everything alright?_

For a moment, Sheanna's soft and gracious face would forcibly sparkle in the ghostful eyes of the undead boy.

Innocence.

That strong, brave little girl facing monsters and bad people. Or perhaps the same thing.  
Children in Azeroth, except for the ones living protected by guards and the safe walls of a city, were often forced to grow up prematurely.  
Just like her.

For a moment, he tried to unsuccessfully recall his youth days as a living.

Two undead men walked the road in the opposite direction, all the way back to Undercity.

Lywe turned their way with her mouth slightly open, carefully studying them.

One of them was carrying a wheelbarrow full of colorful mixtures and empty ampoules. His bald cranium only leaving some space to spikey, crispy withered hair on the sides, right behind his rotten ears. His facial features were festering hideous and his jaw didn't seem to be placed in the right position.  
He would walk by in his robe, glaring at the blood elf, his head creeply shaking as it was turning.

The other was covered in a mysterious black hood, holding his own hands together, although not really caring about the sight of that unusual attractive girl.  
Both of them took very slow steps, resembling somehow Needle.  
Although their appearence, Lywe thought, was nothing like his.

Their gutterspeak whispering, as they left the boy and the she-elf on their back, finally dragged Needle back to reality.

 _Yes_ , he answered late, staring confusedly at the blood elf.  
He posed once more his eyes on the ground, and started walking again.

Lywe focused once more her attention on him and followed.  
She pinched her lip. It was a habit of her.

 _But then, we are winning the war against the Greymane's wolves, right?_

 _I don't know,_ he hastly answered. _  
I don't care. It's not my war._

Lywe gave thought to his words, pondering about his stance towards political matters.  
Thinking about it very well, she never really had the patriotism spirit either.  
Unlike her parents, she never felt really close to the events that led the strong Quel'Thalas elves to their abstinence for magic, ending up being rebaptized 'blood elves' after the sacrifice they took to discipline their thrist for the arcane.  
She didn't judge him at all. And besides, she wasn't really sure about forsaken political approaches. For sure, among all the other races, she thought, theirs was probably the most particular case.

Undead people were just like people. Only a bit more cold and sinister, sometimes giving up to the madness they would bury deep down their heart during their life.

 _Why do you think Sheanna's sister and her comrades would-_

 _Lywe, do you know what a worgen is?_

 _What?_

 _Do you know what a worgen is? Did they ever tell you?_

 _They are former humans, citizens of Gilneas._

 _And what happened?_

 _They have been cursed, I guess? But why are you asking me this?_

 _Do you know what curse it is?_

 _Well, I-_

 _That curse was unleashed by druids to fight the demons many years ago. Too many years ago._  
 _Do you know why Gilnean worgen manage to transform at will, regardless of the time of the day?_

He stopped, as he looked at her confused face with his usual apathic expression.  
 _  
Because night elves are helping them to control it. They teach them. Because they feel guilty for what they did to these people._  
 _If a worgen bites a human, they become one. Not only humans, Kaldorei people can also become worgen.  
Did you know that?  
_  
Lywe shook her head, her shimmering emerald colored eyes widely open, staring right at him.

 _Your race descends from them. You might be able to turn aswell.  
_ _It would be interesting, don't you think?_

A sadistic smile decorated Needle's twisted expression.

 _I think not, thank you._

Lywe genuinely didn't know anything about all of that.

 _How do you know all of this? Who told you?_

 _I have a lot of time. I still remember how to read books. Aunt Rhody lets me read from her library.  
_

 _Oh. Well, I wouldn't take you for a bookworm_ , she said, trying somehow to sound funny.

But Needle wouldn't know much about humor if not for his grim one.

Lywe really did want to try to bound with him, somehow.  
She wanted to know more about his past.

Three swift bats hastly flashed above their heads, screeching, like racing to reach somewhere far away deep in the darkness.

 _Hey.._

 _Mh?_

 _Thank you again for saving me.  
I really owe you my life.._

 _I know._

 _You're weird, you know?_

Yes.

 _Don't you feel pain for that mangle?_

She was really insistent.  
He would breath in air he couldn't taste, looking around aimlessly.

This mist has become skin.

He would say nothing and turn his face to squint at her, scratching his head with his bare bones.

She smiled in all her beauty.

 _Let's go?_


	10. You're Green

_What I'm saying is, with this refrigerator, your potions and mixtures will be kept well conserved! You just need water, and the machine just'll do the trick! Nothing more, sir!_

A palpitant goblin was insisting over a firm, unmoving, one-eyed royal apothecary forsaken who didn't even bother to answer.

Needle grinned. He was observing his struggles since he and Lywe entered the grim, decaying inn of Ambermill.

Ambermill was a human town held by the Kirin Tor forces who pledged allegiance to the Alliance; but Sylvanas Windrunner conquered it together with every portion of territory way to the gates of Arathi Highlands, rising its people from the dead.

The humble, pointy-eared green merchant was most likely testing his luck into selling his inventions. He traveledl all the way there from Orgrimmar thanks to the Royal Deathguard zeppelin.  
Of course, the cursed people of the Banshee Queen were well known for their love for alchemy: that's why after successfully selling one of his inventions in Undercity, he started traveling south through the major forsaken villages and outpost, hoping to further widen his pockets.

But the dead are no easy customers.

The goblin sighed, reaching for his heavy contraption. He struggled, as the table was too tall for him.  
Before leaving, he finally noticed the weird boy's gloomy eyes on him.

 _Oye, what are you smiling at, boy?_

 _You're green_ , Needle stated, squinting his eyes to better scan at the goblin.

Resigned and worn-out by the absurdity that stupid answer, the merchant left the inn with his ears down.

Lywe grimaced at the undead, shaking her head. She was feeling very tired after all that, and she needed rest.

The tavern felt oddly alive and warm, yet dusty and sinister. A tauren and a couple of orcs were sharing a table, the latters challenging eachother to a funny looking card game on top of a bulky board.

They had enormous leather bags with them.  
Who knows what they were carrying with them.  
Who knows what's their story.

Lywe felt a cold shrivel going down her spine as her eyes met with one of the orcs.  
They both turned their glance towards the elf, whispering and muttering something between them.

 _Hey, beaty! Wanna join us for a game,_ one of them asked while the other scoffed at the dirty thoughts one would easily have at the sigh of such an attractive creature.

The blood elf started sweating, the shock caused by the "accident" in the wrecked house surfaced all together.  
Her legs started shaking, her thoughts lost back in that moment of humiliating powerlessness.

The tauren, humongous in size and with majestic long horns adorning his head, was reading a parchment that looked too small for his hands. He didn't even bother to look at the girl, instead sighing lousily in order to silence the two annoying orcs. And so they did, rising their low quality ale mugs to the air and cheering to nothing in particular.

Needle silently stood still, studying the reaction, the difficulty and the struggles of the sin'dorei in order to keep her head cool.  
As she started to feel better for the brute orcs lost interest in her tempting presence to focus back on their game, an undead girl approached. She had a very big, weird nose, probably broken, and her hair was all messy.

 _Can I help you?_

As Lywe turned, the face of the forsaken shined at the radiant beauty of the blood elf.  
The former human girl's face was irregularly consumed; Lywe couldn't help but notice a white little worm coming out of her lacrimal duct.  
She wrinkled her nose, unintentionally, hastly blinking twice and creating a following embarassing pause silence.

All of a sudden, a cold hand from behind landed on half of the blood elf face, rudely pushing her aside.

 _We need a place for the night, sweet eyes._

As he spoke, he would reach for the little white gurb haunting the undead girl's face and take it off, finally squishing it within his hand and then wiping it on her clothes. Without saying a word, she rose her shaking finger to a shadowy figure in the other side of the room: an old forsaken man with multiple bald spots and, a long humble vest and a weirdly kind look on his face.

Lywe proceeded towards him, asking him if by any chance the tavern had a room with a bed for the living to rent.

Needle didn't want to move too much.  
He stood still.

The royal apothecary, who rudely ignored the goblin before, was sitting alone on a table.  
He addressed his only working eye to him.

A familiar feeling.

 _I know you._

 _No_ , the boy answered almost impulsively, seconds after he noticed the sinister alchemist's pondering glare.

 _You're one of Rhody's minions._

 _No._

 _Why are you lying..? I remember you._

Needle grinned at the choking, dusty voice coming out of the undead alchemist.  
He would stare at Lywe as he did.

 _Rhody was supposed to come here tomorrow. Why are you here already,_ he growled.

The boy's grin brusquely shut down.

 _Is she so paranoic to send you one day before?_

He apathically started looking around, opening his mouth and moving his jaw like in attempt to crack it.  
Once he stopped, he'd breath in and let out a rumorous sigh.

 _Hey._

Looking at Lywe's shimmering, hypnotic eyes, he suddenly forgot about the old hag who wouldn't stop tormenting him even inside his mind.

The man, almost surprised, studied at the elegant figure of the thalassian elf.

He looked confused: what does she have to do with all of this?  
A magister from Silvermoon? Nonsense.  
What kind of outfit was that?

He would search within his molded memories for a glimpse, a hint of where he already could have seen similar vestments.

Darnassus? A darnassian armor on a Lor'temar Theron's blood elf? What is the meaning of this?

 _They have one room, luckily for me. Hooray._  
 _Uhm, I'm going now because I am very tired._

Needle raised an eyebrow at her.

Lywe gulped, driving her own hair behind her long pointy ear, as she hoped she didn't sound stupid.

 _You.. don't need to sleep, right? But.. what are you gonna do?_  
 _Are you leaving?_

The boy felt the royal apothecary's eye on him like a pin on the back of his brain.  
The shady undead started playing rhytmically his fingers on the rotting wood of the table.

 _Let's go, miss._  
 _I will show you your room._

 _What?_

 _Good night, good sir_ , Needle smiled widely at him, revealing one missing upper molar in the left area of his mouth.

The two left, heading for the stairs, as the blood elf asked in whispers about the irrequieting man they just evaded.


	11. Warm Hearth

Howling from far away.

A wolf, a worgen.  
Does it matter?

 _I don't like it here._

Lywe gently placed her extravagant bag on the top of the double bed.

 _Who was him?_

 _I don't know. Someone funny._

 _Like you?_

The room was tidy, but it looked so old and it was full of spider webs. It wasn't exaggerately large, but space was more than comfortable.  
The stench of death reigned all over the place, although her nostrils already got used to it for a while.

 _I find it incredible how these lands are the opposite of Eversong Woods._  
 _Everything's just too dark and gloomy,_ she sighed.  
 _Just like the Ghostlands._

Needle waltzed forward as he looked around, not listening to a word of what the girl just said.

Portrait paintings of what once they might have been humans decorated the walls

His off-guard always looked so goofy. His bones unintentionally cracked at most of his movements.  
His face was the one of a curious child; but within his dead flesh, inside his mind, he would maniacally study every single corner of the room.

Survivability is knowledge of the environment.

And he would mix business and pleasure.

Pleasure for killing.

Just like that day on the abandoned fisherman's house: a gracile forsaken can't kill two orcs alone without knowing his surroundings.  
Without knowing how to move through the shadows.

Yes.

Kill.

He wouldn't say anything, instead staring at her.  
Lywe would sit down, tying her hair with her scrunchie as it was straight and long and pretty hampering for her face.

She lifted one of her leather boots on the blankets, uncaring to get them dirty, and started undoing the laces.  
Her boots wouldn't match the darnassian outfit at all, but her feet were not used to walk bare like a night elf just to appease some sort of sense of aesthetic; especially in a context like that.

 _I'm amazed nobody actually noticed I'm wearing a night elf tunic._

 _People here barely knows what a night elf tunic looks like, honestly._  
 _And besides, nobody cares about you as much as you think._

 _Oh, well.. thanks_ , she said, raising her left long silver eyebrow in sarcasm.

Needle didn't react. He wasn't sure about sarcasm at all.

 _It wasn't a compliment._

He would take a seat, with his legs pressed against his chest, on an old, dusty armchair right next to the bed on the side where Lywe was sitting down aswell.

Then the sound of two boots coming off.

 _Aaah.._  
She sounded relieved, her voice ringing naturally sensual.  
 _I was so tired from walking.. my feet hurt so much,_ she said as she started massaging them.  
 _I totally forgot to buy comfortable clothes. I think I saw a place before entering the inn, tho'._  
 _We are going there tomorrow first._

 _Why are you heading to Tarren Mill?_

 _Mh, you're not much of a casual talker, are you?_

With one arm wrapping around both his skinny legs, he brought a claw to the entrance of his mouth, struggling to think about the blood elf words.  
 _Sorry._  
He paused.  
 _What's your favourite colour?_

 _Holy Light, are you serious?_

Needle started staring at Lywe, slowly averting his finger from his lips.  
He couldn't understand.  
Why she was so complicated?  
Girls are complicated.

As her question remained unanswered, they both noticed a cold, forgotten hearth lied behind them.  
The idea of a warm fire in the dead of such a night made Lywe impatient.

 _Hey, I should still have some fire runes left in my bag._  
 _Can you turn the fireplace on for me?_

Needle obeyed without even thinking, just like a Gnomeregan automaton.  
He goofily stood up and started searching for the rune within the bright coloured bag.

The blood elf hastly reached for the dagger on the bedside table and pointed it right at Needle's face.

Silence fell.

The undead lad knew the blade would stop.  
He would slowly lift his tired look at Lywe, waiting for her to say something or proceed with whatever her intentions were.

The blood elf held still.

She smiled.

 _You are not supposed to meddle in a girl's bag, you know that?_  
The elf grabbed the boy's cold hand as he was diving it carelessly.

 _But you s-_

 _Here, take. Turn on the fireplace, please_ , she said putting the rune right on the top of his palm.

He would hold it now with both his hands, his face frowning in confusion.

Girls are way too complicated.

Heading to the hearth and now crouching, Needle would trigger the rune to set sparkles over the rotten, piled up woods.  
The fire effortlessly blossomed.

 _I have to take off my clothes now._

 _Ok._

 _You know, I like sleeping naked._

 _Ok._

 _Yeah.. well, you're supposed not to look at me._

 _Ah. Ok.  
_  
The young forsaken slowly turned the opposite way of the bed, now facing the locked room door, standing still with his spine straight and his feet spread like a duck.

Lywe finally took off the armor.  
She felt relief as her breast bounced free.  
She didn't care to look back to see if the undead boy was peeking.

Needle's appearence was the one of a human, just a very pale one.  
The only real visible undead feature he owned, except for his bare boned left fingers, was the hole in his 's like Lywe forgot about it for the moment and wouldn't pester with caring questions, so he'd gladly try not to give it too much attention.

The flesh of the dead didn't need immediate urgency when it came to be treated.

Once the plumage kilt also came off, Lywe threw both the armour pieces on the floor next to her boots.  
She hastly hid her perfectly shaped body and curves beneath the sheets.  
Although she usually slept completely bared, this time she chose not to remove her bottom underwear as she didn't quite feel comfortable sleeping with her important parts completely uncovered inside of that dusty bed.  
The blankets were salmon colored with elegant embroidery on it. They must've been there from when Lordaeron was still alive.

 _Last time I let my guard this off and tried to relax,_ she nervously chuckled, pausing.

The faces of the two orcs flashed before her tired glowing eyes.  
The reminder of the attempted rape made her feel uncomfortable, but she just forced her brain to banish the bad thoughts.

 _I'm done, by the way. You can turn._

 _Ok._

 _Could you also close the window for me, now that we aired the room out?_

 _Mh._

 _Thank you._

Needle went back to sit down in the same position on the old, dusty armchair.

Cracking sounds from the burning wood.  
It was relaxing and comfortable, as if that sound witnessed the protection and shelter of the two, inside of that room, from the howling cold and darkness of the outside.

The forsaken started taking the needles out of his forearms and putting them on the bedside table next to girl's dirk.

The atmosphere in the room started to fill with assuredness and familiarity.  
Lywe's head was popping out of the blanket, her hair tied.

 _Oh, why did I even tie my hair_ , she thought.

Sometimes we do things without thinking.  
Sleeping with a ponytail would be annoying, so the elf chose to untie it once more, being careful not to move too much to show anything compromising outside of the blankets.

The silver of her hair was shining and mesmerizing. Tufts would adorne her already hidden pretty face all around.  
She was truly beautiful, but despite this, the fact remained that in terms of the elves she was average; making her nothing really special after all.

The girl finally managed to let her guard off.  
She trusted him, or at least for the most. After all, if something bad had to happen, she thought, it already would.

They both exchanged a stare, silently.

Lywe's tired eyes would scan the skinny, huddled figure sitting on the armchair.

As for Needle, it was very hard to say what he was thinking of while his blank, ghostly eyes were on her.  
His empty expression didn't leave much space to imagination or guessing, anyway.

He searched his pocket, and once more the broken watch came out, unfolding and hanging from his clawed fingers as he let it swing in front of his face.  
The sound of its broken hands repeating the same second forever pierced the momentary silence between the two.

 _It looks like a fine watch._

 _Yeah.._

 _Does it belong to you?_

 _Yes._

 _How did you get it?_

 _I found this in a wrecked house._

The girl nodded.

 _Purple. My favourite color is purple._

 _Oh. Ok. I think it's an okay color,_ he answered, putting the watch back away.

 _An okay color,_ she chuffed. _  
You're stupid._

 _And you're annoying._

 _I'm annoying?_ She chuckled.  
 _Right. And you're a psychopath._

 _I'm not a psychopath._

 _Yes you are, I can't read your expressions and I can't tell if you might go crazy and kill me or something._

 _I am not going to kill you._

 _Ah, if you say so. You don't seem stable. And besides, why are you helping me or coming with me in the first place if you know you're not going to have anything back?_

A moment of awkward silence broke the discussion for a brief time.

I haven't met many forsaken in my life and even if I did I actually never had any conversation with them, nor a way to actually realize how or what they are.

 _I am not sure they are all like you.  
Why are you like this?_

Lywe just couldn't explain herself as for why he couldn't be normal.  
Her intentions were to force a discussion and unleash her frustration about how he's not what she wanted him to be under different circumstances.  
Why couldn't he be stable?  
Why the person who saved her in such an heroic way couldn't be a fascinating human?  
Why couldn't he be alive?  
As if talking to him like this in such an annoyed and angry way would solve anything.

 _I can't understand._

 _Sometimes it's like you're still human. You're still... alive._

But he wasn't.

And sometimes it's like you can't feel anything at all. I am not judging what you've become, b

 _ut I just can't understand what kind of person you are.. or at least, you used to be._

He looked at her with that never ending tired blank expression of his, as his neck was slowly rotating on a side.  
 _  
I never asked for this._

 _I know.. I'm sorry.  
_  
The blood elf bit her bottom lips; she wasn't actually making much sense, and taking it out on Needle because of her uncertainties was pointless, so she turned the other way.

The undead stared at his own hands, as to think of something to say about the topic.

So cold. So dead.

 _I want nothing from you._

Lywe remained silent, although her pointy ears unintentionally vibrated at his words.

 _But I suppose coming with you is still better than walking around, forced in a way to do what that old hag orders me._  
 _I felt weird these days with you and Sheanna. I have never felt like this. Or perhaps.._  
He slowly placed his hands on the sides of his head as to hold it.  
 _I don't wanna be alone. I don't like what I do when I am alone._

The blood elf felt satisfaction in the honest words of the lad, but shuddered at the same time for their glumness.  
It was right what she wanted for all this time.

 _The orcs you killed.. is it something you do often?_

 _No, I can't kill orcs. Aunt Rhody said we can't kill orcs because now they are friends and if I do it and someone sees me I'll get in trouble._  
 _But there wasn't anyone in there. Nobody saw me, and it was their fault for hitting Sheanna._  
 _If you hurt children, you deserve to die._

She slowly turned once more to face Needle.  
His face didn't change a bit.

 _How did you get that_ , she pointed at his half scissor with her lazy hand coming out of the blankets.  
The blade was a bit rusty and for a scissor it was a pretty big one.  
 _Is that a half scissor?_

He didn't answer.

 _Are you a killer?_

 _No._

 _But you said you kill people._

 _I don't kill people._

Lywe sighed; her plan to reach for his heart failed, although she was so close.  
But the problem was that it was more like talking to a child.  
A child, with their clothes full of mud, denying to their mother to have played in mud.

 _Sometimes, it just happens.  
And when it happens.. I can feel again. Feel something._  
 _That's why I think I like it._

Lywe stared at the unfeeling forsaken with a mix of fear and compassion.  
He saved her, but his words were too twisted for her to understand.

 _I am going to Tarren Mill to meet with someone.  
An old friend of mine. His name is Meleon. __He might have found out something about my father._

 _Your father?_

 _Yes. He left me, my mother and my brother when I was younger. Without saying anything. One day, he was just gone._

Needle rotated his head.

 _Oh, I'm sorry._

The words came out on their own, without him even really meaning them. _  
_

 _It's okay._  
She tiredly blinked twice.  
 _I never had a chance to know why. It's not like I want something from him or I actually need him back now that my mother is no more._  
 _But Meleon insisted a lot in his letter.. and he said it was something very important. And he knows how much I dislike my father. We are childhood friends.  
Honestly, I didn't even know he was still alive. My father, I mean. And what's weird the most is how the two of them could possibly be related. _  
_Well, whatever,_ she let out resignedly, while biting her finger.  
 _I want to find out. I'm not losing anything, anyway. Meleon is an alchemist, and he went beyond the Arathi Highlands' wall to this one forsaken camp, I believe called.. what was it again.._

 _Galen's Fall._

 _Yes, that. He went to meet with a reagents supplier or something. I don't know much._

 _Prince Galen was heir to Stormgarde's throne._

 _Stormgarde..?_

 _Yes. It was a human nation before the scourge destroyed Lordaeron. The first humans._

 _Really?_ She paused. But, wait.. why would Meleon meet with the Alliance?

 _Because Galen is no more._

 _What..?_

 _He's not dead. Nor he's alive.  
_

 _You mean he's a forsaken now?_

 _Yes. And your friend Melon-_

 _Meleon._

 _-he musts have very important acquaintances if he gets to speak directly with the supplier of Arathi's frontline. Always if that's what he went there for._

Lywe raised both her silver eyebrows, squeezing her eyes in focus.  
That made sense, but there's not much to ponder about. After all, what Meleon did was not her business.  
She wrapped her arms around the pillow as she lied down on her belly. Her bare beasts were pressing against the mattress gently.  
The blood elf breathed in in relaxation. She was enjoying her finally craved moment of chat with the twisted forsaken who's been accompanying her so far, although she was the only one exposing for real; but she truly felt too tired.

And she knew he couldn't sleep.

 _Are you gonna watch over me while I sleep?_

 _Yes._

She smiled.  
 _Don't be creepy, ok?_

 _Ok._

That genuine answer made her smile even more, this time together with a cute puffing.

She would gently lay her eyes on him, and he would exchange the staring with his usual unexpressive look.

The two finally managed to bind in the weirdest way.

The silence was no embarassing nor deafening.

Cracking wood sounds.  
Focused ears could hear the tilted ticking of Needle's broken watch.

Howling from far away.

A wolf, a worgen.  
Does it matter?

Sweet dreams.


	12. Silver Breeze

**AUTHOR NOTE:  
** **Hello, everybody! I am so sorry for this late update. I am recently very busy with work and  
drawing commissions, but since the story here is approaching a very crucial point I am going to give my best**  
 **and update as many chapters as I can!  
** **Thanks for following my story and enjoy your reading.**

* * *

The morning breeze was cold.

Breeze?

Someone opened the window before Lywe woke up.  
The stench of mold and decomposing flesh mixed together was hard to become an inurement for the she-elf.

But something was being carried by the wind piercing through the room.

Something fresh, something familiar.

Memories.

The girl never really left Silvermoon City;she would grow up in a mansion in the center as a noble girl, often playing in Eversong Woods together with Meleon, her brother and other children her age.

At the time, The Dead Scar was fresh and strong. Same would go for the west wing of Silvermoon, where the rangers struggled against the Wretched who infest the ruins of the city. Kids were never allowed to get too far away from the main entrance of the east gate.

Dead people would walk towards and try to attack the walls as they were being repeatedly pushed back by the defenses of the Sin'dorei.  
Lywe never had a close encounter with ghouls. She would never get interested in what they were or how they became the threat they would now represent.  
For her as for many other children, they were seen as taboo, as a nightmare to never get close to or talk about.  
And parents weren't wrong at all as they already had a lot on their mind with their new adaptation to fel magic as a replacement for their mana addiction.

Her father would still take her and her brother north from Fastrider Retreat on the lake to fish, sometimes.  
He knew it was dangerous outside the city and their mother strongly disagreed, but whenever he could hewould sneakily take his children among the never ending spring trees of Eversong, admiring young Dragonhawks flying or Springpaw lynx cubs playing with eachothers.

By the age of twelve, exactly seven Winter Veils ago, the majority of perils in Eversong Woods had been repelled.  
That's when her father left and her mother would die of sickness; how her family, her habits and the life she knew collapsed.  
That's how she started living off the slums, how she started stealing and muscle in shady dealings. She's been trying to survive among criminals and courtesans all this time, until Meleon contacted her after leaving the City for years. A message regarding his father.

He was alive.

Why would he leave her with no reason or explanation?  
Why would he let her mother die? Her wife? The woman he loved, the womand he had children with.

She needed to know, to understand.

After the accident with the orcs and the setback with Needle, she couldn't warn Meleon about her being late to the randez-vous.

She looked around the room: it was empty, the hearth fire extinguished.

Cold.

Dead.

Where is Needle? Needle.. what a weird name, anyway. Where is he? Was it him opening the window? Did he do it for me? I miss the trees and the colorful places of Eversong so much, really. There are spider webs and everything is covered in dust in here. There's almost not sun at all. Everything is so colorless, so cold. I hope Meleon didn't give up on meeting me. Father. I wonder what father is doing right now. I have to find him. I have to know. Voices. I hear voices.

And voices indeed were hearable from outside the window, below.  
A womanly voice.  
Whose voice is that?  
Oh, we know whose voice that is.

The morning sunshine was covered by the dead trees of the forest, barely visible, but still trying its way to reach and kiss the beautiful face of lazy Lywe.

Silver breeze, good morning.


	13. Unwanted Guest

Irritating.

Her voice was irritating.

Aunt Rhody's words pierced through Needle's ears just like a child's name being repeatedly and crescently called by an upset mother.

 _What happened to your abdomen?_

Lywe hastly dressed up right after rubbing her emerald glowing eyes; the featherly outfit donated the girl a very exotic and contrasting look.

The day wasn't as dark as usual: the sky was painted of a ghost white tending to grey.  
Just like a rainy day, except that no cloud was visible at all.

The elf leaned out of the window, dragged by curiosity of whoever was noisily talking with that shrilly hoarse voice.

First thing that jumped out at the young elf was a massive undead brute.  
Although it wasn't a common abomination: more like an ehnanched forsaken with a lot of flesh, especially distributed on the abdominal region, full of stitches and surgical implants signs. Its faint cadaveric look almost made it look like he wasn't conscious at all. His mouth didn't hold still, as if dislocated from his face, drooling a weird green liquid. A giant axe was hanging from his hand, touching the ground wit the blade. Heavy armour was covering his arms.

Needle was standing still in front of a forsaken lady holding a walking stick with a gargoyle carved on the top.  
Her face consumed by time and death, twisted by a perversion uncarefully unhidden.  
Her long, messy, dark purple greasy hair gathered in a classy bun. A black robe with white embroideries was adorning her skinny silhouette.

Lywe noticed distinctively from above, as elven sight is very efficent, a mark up the right tail of her lips: probably what's left of a mole.

The girl gathered her stuff and her bag, and as she left the inn to approach her misadventuring companion, the woman focused her attention on her.

 _Oh my, what a beautiful girl. Did you get lost, sweetheart?_

Lywe didn't properly know how to answer the lady.

 _She's with me._

 _With you_ , Aunt Rhody asked with a pleased tone and a grin on her face.

 _The living don't seek the dead, Needle. I told you plenty of time,_ she said stepping towards the boy, closing the gap between herself and him to gently caress his face with her clawed gloves _.  
_

 _I am sure the charming miss here has her own business in a dark place like this.  
What would you need from him, my dear?_

 _It's none of your business, old hag_ , Needle said with his eyes wide open, letting out a creepy chuckle, as if he felt smug of the adjective he used on her.

 _Watch your mouth, my child. You don't want auntie to ground you again, do you?_

The chuckling suddenly disappeared. Needle looked down at his left hand: below Sheanna's pearl bracelet, a cut was circling all around his wirst.

Lywe followed his look at the heinous scar. The seam signs were clearly suggesting that the hand was cut off and then sewn back.

The forsaken lad flashed a twitching smirk on his face.

 _Where's Bunny?_

 _Oh, I am sure he's roaming around the town among the trees.  
Do you miss him?_

No answer.

A cold pause; then suddenly, a stranger's voice.

 _Lywe?_

The young elf slowly turned her neck, her eyes lost aimlessly in the distance to better focus her mind on whose voice her name called for.

 _Lywe..?_

She knew that voice.

Brown long hair and very well shaved facial hair, a blood elf in thalassian leather clothes with green and yellow patterns was keeping the right distance probably due to the fascinating and threatening presence of Aunt Rhody's bodyguard.

 _Meleon?_

The name almost came out naturally from the girl's lips, mostly driven by nostalgia.  
He was observing the scene from afar as he just reached for Ambermill, and saw the blood elf girl and the forsaken in the square in front of the town hall, right next to the inn.

 _You're here?_

She walked towards her childhood friend, forgetting about anything else, as if the comfort of her homeland, her childhood itself was calling her away from that black, gloomy reality.

Needle turned his attention on the new guest. As his head was inclined downwards, his eyes would pierce through his bangs wide openly, his ghostly staring scanning the young man.

 _I thought you couldn't make it to the meeting, so I decided to travel back to Undercity, hopefully finding you on the way. I guess it was a wise choice after all,_ he smiled.

 _It was_ , she sighed, _indeed._

 _Are you okay?_

 _The living don't seek the dead_ , aunt Rhody whispered to Needle's ears, his jaw moving because of the grinding of his teeth; his eyes still glued to Meleon.

 _Yeah, I have a lot to tell you.._

Meleon scanned Lywe's body with naughty intent.  
Most of her skin was laid bare, and it took a while before the blood elf realized the manufacturing style of the outfit.

 _Are these.. night elven clothes?_

 _Yes, well, I-_

The old hag slowly started approaching the sin'dorei couple, the sound of her steps accompanied by that loud noise of cane tapping.

 _Where did you get them from? Why?_

 _Look, I have a lot to explain..  
_

 _Which reminds me_ , Aunt Rhody abruptely interrupted the conversation with a high tone, _there's been a massacre in the woods, last night._

The two elves turned the forsaken lady's way.

 _A darnassian encampment has been assaulted and raided. The Royal Deathguard scouts found night elf corpses, most of them were priests of whatever pathetic moon god they worship._

Needle's mind went completely blank.

No.

 _What might have happen_ , she wondered rethorically, smirking in a very appeasing way.

At the words of the undead lady, Lywe started connecting the dots.  
Horror climbed up her spine.

 _I heard the camp was situated south from Fenris Isle, in a little valley past the mountains north from here_ , the undead lady tighten her hold of the walking cane.

Like a goblin shredder whose commands have just been input, Needle's legs automatically started walking by theirselves.

 _What's going on here..?_

 _No_ , Lywe gulped with her eyes glued to the fading shadow of Needle, _listen we have to go, I'll explain you everything. I promise. Please, come with me._

And he stalks.

The young sin'dorei marching right after him.

And he stalks.

Everything's wandering.

Never hunger.

Never tire.

Never fear.


	14. Hurry Up

Irritating.

Her voice was irritating.

Aunt Rhody's words pierced through Needle's ears just like a child's name being repeatedly and crescently called by an upset mother.

 _What happened to your abdomen?_

Lywe hastly dressed up right after rubbing her emerald glowing eyes; the featherly outfit donated the girl a very exotic and contrasting look.

The day wasn't as dark as usual: the sky was painted of a ghost white tending to grey.  
Just like a rainy day, except that no cloud was visible at all.

The elf leaned out of the window, dragged by curiosity of whoever was noisily talking with that shrilly hoarse voice.

First thing that jumped out at the young elf was a massive undead brute.  
Although it wasn't a common abomination: more like an ehnanched forsaken with a lot of flesh, especially distributed on the abdominal region, full of stitches and surgical implants signs. Its faint cadaveric look almost made it look like he wasn't conscious at all. His mouth didn't hold still, as if dislocated from his face, drooling a weird green liquid. A giant axe was hanging from his hand, touching the ground wit the blade. Heavy armour was covering his arms.

Needle was standing still in front of a forsaken lady holding a walking stick with a gargoyle carved on the top.  
Her face consumed by time and death, twisted by a perversion uncarefully unhidden.  
Her long, messy, dark purple greasy hair gathered in a classy bun. A black robe with white embroideries was adorning her skinny silhouette.

Lywe noticed distinctively from above, as elven sight is very efficent, a mark up the right tail of her lips: probably what's left of a mole.

The girl gathered her stuff and her bag, and as she left the inn to approach her misadventuring companion, the woman focused her attention on her.

 _Oh my, what a beautiful girl. Did you get lost, sweetheart?_

Lywe didn't properly know how to answer the lady.

 _She's with me._

 _With you_ , Aunt Rhody asked with a pleased tone and a grin on her face.

 _The living don't seek the dead, Needle. I told you plenty of time,_ she said stepping towards the boy, closing the gap between herself and him to gently caress his face with her clawed gloves _.  
_

 _I am sure the charming miss here has her own business in a dark place like this.  
What would you need from him, my dear?_

 _It's none of your business, old hag_ , Needle said with his eyes wide open, letting out a creepy chuckle, as if he felt smug of the adjective he used on her.

 _Watch your mouth, my child. You don't want auntie to ground you again, do you?_

The chuckling suddenly disappeared. Needle looked down at his left hand: below Sheanna's pearl bracelet, a cut was circling all around his wirst.

Lywe followed his look at the heinous scar. The seam signs were clearly suggesting that the hand was cut off and then sewn back.

The forsaken lad flashed a twitching smirk on his face.

 _Where's Bunny?_

 _Oh, I am sure he's roaming around the town among the trees.  
Do you miss him?_

No answer.

A cold pause; then suddenly, a stranger's voice.

 _Lywe?_

The young elf slowly turned her neck, her eyes lost aimlessly in the distance to better focus her mind on whose voice her name called for.

 _Lywe..?_

She knew that voice.

Brown long hair and very well shaved facial hair, a blood elf in thalassian leather clothes with green and yellow patterns was keeping the right distance probably due to the fascinating and threatening presence of Aunt Rhody's bodyguard.

 _Meleon?_

The name almost came out naturally from the girl's lips, mostly driven by nostalgia.  
He was observing the scene from afar as he just reached for Ambermill, and saw the blood elf girl and the forsaken in the square in front of the town hall, right next to the inn.

 _You're here?_

She walked towards her childhood friend, forgetting about anything else, as if the comfort of her homeland, her childhood itself was calling her away from that black, gloomy reality.

Needle turned his attention on the new guest. As his head was inclined downwards, his eyes would pierce through his bangs wide openly, his ghostly staring scanning the young man.

 _I thought you couldn't make it to the meeting, so I decided to travel back to Undercity, hopefully finding you on the way. I guess it was a wise choice after all,_ he smiled.

 _It was_ , she sighed, _indeed._

 _Are you okay?_

 _The living don't seek the dead_ , aunt Rhody whispered to Needle's ears, his jaw moving because of the grinding of his teeth; his eyes still glued to Meleon.

 _Yeah, I have a lot to tell you.._

Meleon scanned Lywe's body with naughty intent.  
Most of her skin was laid bare, and it took a while before the blood elf realized the manufacturing style of the outfit.

 _Are these.. night elven clothes?_

 _Yes, well, I-_

The old hag slowly started approaching the sin'dorei couple, the sound of her steps accompanied by that loud noise of cane tapping.

 _Where did you get them from? Why?_

 _Look, I have a lot to explain..  
_

 _Which reminds me_ , Aunt Rhody abruptely interrupted the conversation with a high tone, _there's been a massacre in the woods, last night._

The two elves turned the forsaken lady's way.

 _A darnassian encampment has been assaulted and raided. The Royal Deathguard scouts found night elf corpses, most of them were priests of whatever pathetic moon god they worship._

Needle's mind went completely blank.

No.

 _What might have happen_ , she wondered rethorically, smirking in a very appeasing way.

At the words of the undead lady, Lywe started connecting the dots.  
Horror climbed up her spine.

 _I heard the camp was situated south from Fenris Isle, in a little valley past the mountains north from here_ , the undead lady tighten her hold of the walking cane.

Like a goblin shredder whose commands have just been input, Needle's legs automatically started walking by theirselves.

 _What's going on here..?_

 _No_ , Lywe gulped with her eyes glued to the fading shadow of Needle, _listen we have to go, I'll explain you everything. I promise. Please, come with me._

And he stalks.

The young sin'dorei marching right after him.

And he stalks.

Everything's wandering.

Never hunger.

Never tire.

Never fear.


	15. Coma Tar

Remember this day.

Cold the grass under your dead feet.

Immobile.

He explored most of the forest already. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep.

His curse, the curse of undeath.

Everything lacks flavour, there's nothing to do to appease that emptiness within, nothing to alleviate the frustration of something you'll never be or have ever again. What else is left to do except for walking?

In life, we walk.  
In death, we stand still.

For the living dead, walking is what makes the difference.

Silent.

He knew exactly how to reach the valley mentioned by the wrinkly old witch, kissed by the lake, where trees didn't dare to grow.  
It was there, down the hill after the mountaineous passing north from Ambermill.

Bloodshed painting the landscape, kal'dorei corpses under the motionless and apathetic grey of the sky.

Just like his heart.  
Just like his soul.

Kene'thil surfas.

Meleon and Lywe, childhood friends reunited, now finally reached panting for the shadowy silhouette standing in front of the tragedy.

Is this a tragedy, anyway? Is this something to be surprised about?  
Is this something to be traumatized for?

This is not odd.  
This is reality.  
This is what we do.

We die to live.  
To live, we die.

Subjectivity of reality was made a contrast between the faces of the blood elves.

Aloofness for him, someone who never even knew they existed.  
Horror for her, who loved and lost.  
But what about 'it'?

Nothing. Blank.

Legs started moving by theirselves, waltzing among the cadavers of the night elves.

Probably twenty, thirty of them.  
Anonymous, unknown faces.

What's his story?  
And his?  
What about her?

Nobody cares, and it doesn't matter anymore anyway.

Darnassian tents covered in blood.

Rough axes, swords of shallow workmanship studded the dead bodies of the elves.  
Some transfixed panthers, some transfixed grizzlies.

Just like that albino grizzly over there, collapsed on a side with one spear piercing through its liver and two swords stuck in its spine.  
Just like Meris, the prideful druid who mangled his abdomen, the same abdomen he still didn't have the time to patch up, dead as a majestic and powerful bear, wasting the beautiful shape of her luxurious elvish body.

Or just like Ryethil, ungraciously lying down the grass with his hands and legs tied up, full of bruises, his face beaten to death.  
The same apparently rough but deep down kind Ryethil who offered clothing to a stranger, whose race descends from his own and decided to betray their kin, now pledging allegiance to the opposite faction.

Dead humans, not more than six bodies were there aswell.  
What happened to them?

Why does that man have a darnassian glaive planted right next to his left kidney?

Maybe we should ask Sheythis, who died in a very funny and weird pose, with her left arm touching her legs, her back curved like a boomerang, a dagger like a skewer going through her throat.

Her beautiful face, her perfect cheekbones and tiny cute little nose.  
Her night sky coloured hair.  
Her corpse violated, sperm traces covering her finely feathered tunic as the lower part had been ripped off.

Ah, the kiss of death.

And there she was.

What were you thinking?

The only child.

Was it fun reciting?

The most beautiful child he ever saw in his life. Or is it death?

Do you think you could go back, do you think you could have what you lost?

She was the only one of the group, the only kid in that scary place so far away from home.  
For some reason, she never had the same luck as the other kal'dorei younglings, safe among the trees of Nordrassil and the kind wildlife.

Do you think you could make up for what you are now?

She could never play hide and seek and have fun with other children, never could she find out what she loved the most in this wicked world and become the wonderful girl she was meant to.

You are food for worms.

Her tiny, delicate hand probably never let go of Mr. Button. He was still there. She never let go of him.  
Together they'd be until the end, and forever more.

The fact that you're walking makes no difference. Accept it.

One would think she could have died hugging her elder sister, or at least right next to her.  
But this wasn't the case. Reality is never like a good story that emanates a sense of love or bottom line in drama.

Reality is merciless.

Feel the rigid grass on your knees.  
Touch her soft, pale blue porcelain looking skin.  
Can you see with your widely opened and empty eyes her bracelet on your wrist, while your hand is running through her hair?

Nothing is going to change.

She is no more.

 _Oh no.. no.._

The blonde, thalassian sunshine slumped on herself in the middle of the grey of the dead.

 _Who.. who.. why.. what happened.._

In an effort to show fake empathy, just like it's everyone's custom for well manners, Meleon sighed with his hands on her shoulders.

 _Lywe..._

 _I am so sorry, Sheanna_ , she said as she crawled next to the tiny cold corpse of the little girl, right in front of the forsaken.

Tears were swallowing her intense emerald eyes.

You are only a cocoon.

 _I am so sorry, baby.._

Stand up. You are on the eve of liberation.

You don't need this, you never did and you never will.

Take out the long scissor blade.

Life clings like a parasite to the soul.

Walk towards that human corpse.

 _Needle_ , she sobbed.

Stab it.

 _Needle._

And stab. Stab.

Stab more, and more.

Stab it again.

 _Needle, please, stop._

Feel that hot, vibrant dark red on your skin.

Yours isn't like this anymore.

Yours is cold, black and decaying.

Stab more.

Can you feel it, now?

It's coming.

Stab.

 _Needle!_

Stab.

That amusing sensation.

That sweet harmony.

The shadowy forsaken started diving his claws within the flesh of that human corpse.  
He ripped off a chunk and slowly brought it to his mouth.

It tastes so good.  
It feels so good.

 _Anar'alah belore.._ , Lywe let out, as if not horrified enough.

Her eyes soaked in disgust.

Familiar, obsessing chuckles once more took control over the boy.

And stab.

And eat.

Meleon's indifference tarted transmuting into a sense of self-defense, his hand slipping on the heft of the well defined thalassian patterned dagger he was carrying on his waist, probably never unsheated.

 _Needle, for the love of-_

 _Lywe, we have to go._

They took the angel away.

 _Needl-_

 _Lywe ,come with me, let's go._

And away they go, the scared, spoiled little elves.

Stab.

You will forget breath.

Eat.

You will forget love.


	16. Purpura Tears

The dark night sky was reigning over the vast, ancient wood that runs Lordaeron's rugged western coast.

The cursed inhabitants of the third human kingdom of history, strong of their name and heritage, reflected their king renowed stubborness. They couldn't accept the current condition of the lands that were once their own, the lands they would call home. The same lands Anduin Lothar and the refugees from Stormwind stepped on when they escaped to Lordaeron after the First War.

The plague of undeath changed everything.  
It infected the trees, making them pale and lifeless; the wildlife now diseased and rotten.

The Gilnean people couldn't face the fact that harmony and glory were only good memories from the past. The Banshee Queen's forsaken could take their homeland, but couldn't claim their people.

 _They don't look like they are from the liberation front._

 _I'm afraid they are not, sir._

 _Then what happened here, exactly?_

 _We don't know much more than what's right before your very eyes, sir._

The man snorted. He was standing still, his arms folded, one hand reaching for his heavy black and grey shaded beard.  
He was a large bearish man, his face was consumed with scars scattered around his thick features. His eyes dark grey, tired.

He was wearing a dark, calf-length leather duster. Underneath it, just as is Gilneas' gentlemen fashion, a waistcoat adorned with a cravat. Thick brown leather gloves and boots, his pants were oddly large and held by an elegant waist; as if someone bigger was supposed to wear them instead.

The human encampment, set on the coast north from the Dalaran crater in the once living Hillsbrad Foothills, was decorated by a dozen and a half human corpses.  
It was a very poorly settled one, for sure they weren't meant to stay there for more than one, two nights.  
But someone found them.  
Or something.

A couple of Gilneas Liberation Front guerrillas were inspecting the unrealistic scene, one of them with a mastiff sniffing around.

 _It never ceases to surprise me_ , a long, curly red haired young woman spoke, roughly chewing on a silverleaf root.  
 _Hilarious._

She too was wearing a duster, lighter in color and shorter in size. Under the leather, the Royal Guard mail was visible.

 _I don't think there's much to discuss here. All of these Light's forsaken lands straight as far as Arathi Highlands, if it wasn't for that Crowley coward, are_ _the Dark Lady's territory now; perhaps some scouts or a group of Royal Guards found these poor guys.  
End of the story._

 _Vanessa, no; i_ _f this was the Banshee Queen's doing, their corpses would belong to her by now and we wouldn't have even been called here._

He looked around, taking a long breath: the dry air overwhelmed his nostrils.

 _They weren't worgen._

A draenei woman was speaking her native language, spreading blessings and prayers around as if the Light could absolve the poor souls taken in the bloodshed.  
 _Katethi..  
_ Just like the other mysterious agents, she was wearing a rugged dust coat which donated her a pretty anonymous style, as if to confuse with the grey of the landscape.  
And yet, her exotic pale blue skin and silver hair prevailed.  
 _A'chano katethi._

The corpses were almost as to compose a twisted piece of art.  
Some had one or more arms cut clean, some had their legs severed, some had their eyes gouged out.  
All of them presented multiple stabs anyway; whoever killed these men didn't do that for survival or just for the sake of eliminating them.  
Whoever cruelly killed these men probably took pleasure in it.

 _There was a survivor when we arrived_ , the third, young, inexperienced and still bewildered soldier continued.  
He pointed at a dead body, eyes completely white blank; drool on his mouth like rabies and blood coming out from an oddly enlarged ear hole.

 _He_ , the young man gulped, _he was being delirious_.  
 _We kept our distance and asked him to explain what was going on. He started speaking nonsense, I swear._

 _What do you mean, son_ , the man asked.

 _He started blabbering about some Jack.. someone who came back to kill them all because they left him for dead. He said it was their friend who killed them all._

 _Their friend?_

 _He said it was their friend Jack's face.. the face._

 _What? What does that mean_ , the girl put on a grimace, her nose pulling her cute freckles with it.

The young Gilnean soldier gulped again and turned his face to the squad leader.

 _Like if someone was literally wearing that man's face on their own,_ the moustached middle aged man answered.

 _What are you talking about_ , the girl nervously giggled.

 _The man's face started to worsen until he screamed and a swarm of white spiders bursted out of his ear.  
_ He took a silent pause, scanning the two agents. _  
We took him down._

The old man kept scratching his beard, raising both his eyebrows at once in a resigned look as he stared at the Gilenas Liberation Front soldier who answered.

After recomposing himself, he quickly switched a glance back at the youngling and then again at the leader of the scouting group.

 _Is he one?_

 _No._

 _And what is he doing here?_

 _He will be initiated shortly._

 _Shortly? I can't believe after these years you kept a human wander around like this._  
 _Initiate him before he'll walk dead to kill you in the sleep._

The man turned towards the young girl, hands on his hips.

 _Why do they want to find the culprit?_

 _I have no idea. Apparenty, there are still nomadic stubborn fanatic parties blaming the Kaldorei for the curse around here._

 _Which isn't wrong._

 _Which isn't,_ the draenei priestess continued, speaking in her strong Eredar accent, _but Alliance agreed on a diplomacy between us and them.  
And all of this wasn't intentional, so, regardless of our personal opinion.. we can't afford useless bloodshed like this. It's not gonna solve anything._

 _It isn't. I know that.  
_  
Vanessa stepped closer to the man, sighing her words out softly:

 _I miss my home, Jericho.  
I miss my family._

The man stood still, freezing at the young lady's words. His mind was trying to drag towards the surface pleasant, warm memories.

Elizabeth.

But the cold, frigid landscape around him and the stinging scent of blood would prevent him from achieving this peace.  
He closed his eyes. He hesitated.

The girl squinted at him as she noticed his trance, biting her lips after quickly licking them. She was studying the old man's face features as he silently focused.

Jericho let out a heavy sigh. He opened back his grey, tired eyes. He noticed the young lady's stare on him.  
She was a daring girl, not shy, not reserved. If it wasn't for her pretty feminine face and her long, curly hair, she could be a boy.

 _So? What do we do now?_

At her words, Jericho inhaled, popping his tongue against his palate ready to give her an answer he wasn't even sure of.

 _Mr. Asheton?_

They proceeded to both turn their way at the soldier who interrupted them, standing next to the cadaver of a man who literally was impaled against a tree trunk solely with a shovel.

 _Pheta thones gamera,_ the draenei woman softly let out.

On his chest, carved in flesh, scarlet messy words in common recited: ' **WE KILLED A CHILD** '.


	17. Faerie-well

Within the mountains of western Tirisfal Glades, just west of Deathknell, an enchanted, forgotten forest lays.

They call it the Whispering Forest.

Among the families of diseased stags, does and fawns, rats and even bears you can find a magical circle.

A faerie ring near the center of the forest, a mysterious and mystical ring of giant mushrooms, glowing with some sort of strange energy. A cloud of mist hovers over the circle, and the circle sits, glowing and otherwise unremarkable for hours on end. But every now and again, faerie dragons begin to appear, one by one, and fly erratically around. Over time, exactly seven of them fade in, and at some point all seven fey darters seem to come to some forgone conclusion and converge on the ring. The faerie dragons start singing. Their enchanted melody, sweet and charming, beams of light shine from each of them, converging on the center of the glowing, magical mushroom ring. The other animals of the glen come to watch, curious about the lights and sounds no doubt, and just as suddenly as the mysterious ritual starts, it stops.

The faerie dragons slowly fly away, fading out to wherever they happen to come from, and the stags, does and fawns wander off.

Aunt Rhody knew very well how that forest was the favourite place for Needle to disappear.  
She always wondered how he would reach for it, as no real practicable path would lead to it.

If it wasn't for Bunny carrying her as he brutally climbed the rock face, she probably wouldn't even bother.

Bunny was not a common undead abomination.

The Royal Apothecary would systematically sew together flesh and organs following a specific pattern every time, in order to mass produce death guards for the Banshee Queen and grant a notable protection for the decaying walls of the Ruins of Lordaeron.

But Aunt Rhody had her own procedures and experimentations.

She secretely collaborated as apothecary surgeon and alchemist for the Varimatras' Forces during the Undercity civil war.  
Collaboration has to be specified, cause Rhody would never hold interest or loyalty for any cause but her own. She would only work-shadow with great minds and scientists in order to deepen her knowledge throughout all those years since she lost her humanity, after the Prince Menethil doomed his own people.

After all the former Chief Apothecary turmoils, she would sneak out and travel to Thunder Bluff to seek shelter from oblivious associates until the air was cleared.

Bunny was one of the first abominations being born by her perversed mind after relocating a small laboratory in Brill.  
It was a large, four meters tall mass of flesh, body parts and organs that came from living beings. Distinctive giant feet would allow it to walk, sewn together by multiple parts of meat. The head was mostly deprived of a neck: a mix of different faces stick together with no clear features. A giant drooly mouth with rotten teeth would allow the beast to barely breath although necromantic magic, following the same principles that allow undead themselves to walk among the living, wouldn't actually require that. Giant arms and hands, big enough to squash the cranium of an adult man. A third arm with bladed prosthetic would stand up out just next to the right one. Huddled arms and legs would just come out inharmoniously from that abomination. The masterwork would be tied together by heavy chains.

Once they reached the peak, it wasn't long before the deviated woman found the boy.

The body of a young Kal'dorei girl with beautiful night blue hair and a strange purple bruise on her cheek was lying right in the middle of the glowing mushrooms. They would intermittently shine with a ghostly white light, calling for faerie creatures.

A pity that the only creatures that approached were everything but faerie.

Rhody was placed on the ground by the hulking hand of her monstrosity. She walked towards the dormant figure of the little girl, placed in the exact middle of the ring with maniacal precision. Her legs were stick together, her arms going down her hips in parallel with the body. A rag doll, somewhat familiar to her, was placed affectionately on the top of her bare tummy to cover a brutal stab on the little girl's liver.

Outside the ring, a scattered cut rope on the floor and, right next to it, a face.  
It was the face of a man, a face of a human.  
It seemed to have been literally stripped from the head of someone.

The old decrepit woman stepped forward with her cane, apathetically looking at the night elf.  
She then lifted her staring, studying the trees around.

She knew him too well.

Needle was hanging from a tree with a rope enclasping his neck.  
His body was covered in pretty fresh cuts and scars bleeding black blood, for however fresh could wounds be for someone who already died long ago.  
He was staring blankly at the infinite naught before him, unable to leave that cruel world.

Isn't that right?

Rhody beckoned to Bunny to put him down.

She wasn't surprised.

The forsaken boy refused to even stand still as the huge hand let go of him, falling down like a corpse.

 _What did you do?_

Not a word.

 _Did you kill all of them? Was it you?_

Leave me alone.

 _Look at that horrible wound on your abdomen._  
 _Come, let me fix you._

I don't want.

 _Oh, my dear. What did they do to her_ , the forsaken witch asked, faking a stressed sigh.

Finally, he moved. His cracking head turning the way of the poor little Kal'dorei cadaver.  
That overwhelming feeling of asphyxiation even though he didn't need to breath.  
The oppression of guilty emotions choking his greyed out organs.

And yet he standed.

He walked towards her like a wraith, dry and dirty blood on his mouth, he kneeled down. He touched her hair, touched her bruised tiny cheek. He closed the gap between his nose and hers, looking for a familiar gesture, a warm feeling. He wanted to feel alive, he wanted to be filled with purpose, he wanted to be loved just like that night.

The night he thought everything would be for the better for little Sheanna, the night he safely delivered her to her sister's custody.  
The night the princess kissed the ugly frog.  
The night the frog couldn't transform back to a prince, instead becoming even more disgusting and unpleasant. _._

 _I would have told her that she was the only thing that I could love in this dying world._

 _But this is how the world is, my dear. We live, we die._

Bunny let out a growl in an excruciating spasm.

 _We are in the middle. We defy existence. We are Gods._  
 _This is our place in this world. Our world._

 _This was never my world._

Needle twitched his left eye. Frantic maniacal cackling was forcing its way out, but he was trying to fight that utterness.

 _I can bring her back, dear._

At her words, the lad stopped shaking all of a sudden.

 _I can make her one of us, Needle._  
 _She can become immortal. Infinite._  
 _She can be a goddess forever._

Not a word.

 _Just like you.  
_  
Crick crack, the sound of his neck bone.  
The gloomy, dark face of the boy turned towards her malevolent stepmother, wide opened ghost eyes.

Rhody realised how long it passed since the last time she felt a chill down her spine.

 _Never._


	18. Bittersweet

He opened his eyes.

The sun in the limpid blue sky was piercing an oddly soft, delicate mist.  
The air was full of familiar and overwhelming smells, filling his nostrils without letting his mind focusing on anything in particular.  
He was sitting in the shadow of a very big tree. A myriad of blue flowers were adorning the thick leaves. Or were they pink? Maybe red.  
A tiny, confusing figure approached him. It was hard to look at her face, as if the latter was willingly trying not to be recognized at all, but for sure it looked like a little girl. She was wearing an elegant tunic but the color was weird to describe. It wasn't a defined color at all; the embroidery couldn't seem to keep a firm shape either.

It's a confusing sensation, still warm and relaxing.

 _Are we going for it this time?_

No,

he answered.  
He didn't even know why he said that, the words just came out naturally; but in the absence of stupor of the moment, his mind still managed to realize that his voice was free of the dusty sensation, free of the obsturction of death.

Altough he didn't properly look at himself without real control of it, he realized that he wasn't a walking carcass anymore. He could see the bright pink color of his own skin with the corner of his eyes, as he was trying to stare at the little faceless girl in the most common of ways.

He was alive, once more.

 _But you never come with me.._

I know.

 _You always promise me but you never do. You're horrible._

 _No, I'm not. Leave me alone, I'm just not in the mood right now,_ he answered again with a very annoying tone. _  
_But again, he couldn't understand one bit as of why or how.

 _You never are_ , the weird tiny girl said.

No matter his struggles, he wasn't able to sew the pieces together.  
He was powerless to understand what was going on. And for no apparent reason, those last words coming out of the mysterious shadow hurt him.

The overwhelming emotions, the smells, the breeze running through his face and hair, all disappeared at once.  
Or perhaps they disappeared slowly, fading without having him realize it.

He opened his eyes.

Smell of sulfur mixed with blood.  
The ground was brown, ugly and sick, the trees corrupted into giant mushrooms and the air polluted with orange mist.

He was lying on the ground, so he lifted his upper chest to reach for a sitting position.  
He wasn't wearing clean clothes anymore; there was no elegant laced back and front doublets on him anymore, no more sophisticated breeches in his legs, no more refined boots in his feet. He was wearing blood stained wound dressing wrapping around his pale skinned chest and arms irregularly. His legs were covered by large dark pants cut to the knees, his feet wearing cloth shoes cut to the ankles. He had bags, gadgets, vials hanging from his panths and from belts tied around his trunk.

What is this place?

He found himself in the middle of a ruined, wrecked house.  
Right next to him, an axe dripping fresh blood; right next to the axe, a stone dripping dense black blood, the same black blood encrusting within the eyelashed of his left eye.

In front of him, the body of a man was struggling to crawl away.  
His legs had huge cuts, enough to prevent him from walking.  
The color of his clothes were dirty white and scarlet.

Oh. Right.

He stood up, gently, picking up the axe from the ground.  
It was a pretty big axe, and him grabbing with one hand only ended up having it being dragged.

Clicking bones.

 _No,_ the injured man bleated.  
 _Why.. why.._

Needle walked creepily towards the man.

 _Why won't you die, monster.. the Light.. the Light shall burn you.._

His hands held tight the heft and his arms automatically lifted together.

 _The Light will prevail, the Light will protec-_

A sharp blow on the top of the man's head crushed the axe's blade into his skull, splitting violently his cranium in half and painting the withered grass of a limpid red.

The boy searched his waist in a neurotic manner, scanning the surroundings until his killing, ghostly eyes found and fixed on his beloved half scissor resting on the ground. He softly picked it up and then proceeded to look around.

The Plaguelands were shining in all of their deadly radiance.

He noticed a decompised barrel right in a corner of the wrecked house without a rooftop.  
It was oddly boggling. Didn't take him long, after grinning and rotating his head in his usual way when focusing on things, to lift it.

 _Kwyzkakle, get your stuff and let's go,_ he sniggerd.

A familiar goblin, with a peculiar large piercing on his right pointy ear, got startled right on the spot.

 _Oye! Boy, that's you.. I wasn't.. I was, you know-_

 _Save it, you giant booger thingamajig. Let's go._


	19. Smell like Peacebloom

The Scarlet Raven Inn was once a cheerful and friendly place full of people relaxing after a hard day's work at the fields. Altough the hearth has been kept warm, it now holds a more morose crowd, who sit by their tables and drink silently while the darkness presses in on the tavern outside.

Jericho couldn't grow affected to any place anymore, but somehow Duskwood gave him a pleasant, familiar sensation.

Like always, Orena was walking around to see if everything was good.  
She was a lovely and hospitable dwarf, and had become the only wealthy citizen in town. The Goldtooths are renown in Khaz Modan to be master brewers.  
Orena's skills would surely make them proud.

Jericho was sitting together with Vanessa and a weird elegant dressed gentleman in a hat at the table next to the the stairs, right in front of the barrels of wine. He was gently toying with a bronze pendant; it was refined and decorated with hand carving. The girl was eagerly drinking, while the gentleman was talking to him. But his words sounded muffled to Jericho's ears; his focus was somewhere else. He felt so distant, he was there but at the same time he was somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

 _Asheton._

 _Yes._

 _Are you even listening to me?_

He noisily snorted, as it was his merciless habit whenever someone would be annoying towards him.

 _Asheton, I hope it's clear._  
 _We need you to cooperate, otherwise we cannot grant you things will go for the best.  
Give us pleasant results as soon as possible._

The mysterious man searched for an internal pocket inside of his black long coat and placed a folded paper on the table as he stood, then left twenty silver coins on the table before tipping his hat and taking his leave. Vanessa didn't take long before making fifteen of them disappearing, not leaving much gratuity for the manservants.

Jericho stared at the letter.  
He was hesitant: he both really wanted to read and ignore it.

He closed his eyes to sharpen his olfaction.

Yes.

Elizabeth.

She smelled like peacebloom.

Elizabeth.

He grabbed the folded paper and dragged it together with his hand inside the leather duster he was wearing.

That name insatiably tormented him.

 _Vanessa, I'm going to bed._

 _Uh?_

 _You should do the same._

 _Ah yes, yes.._

 _Tomorrow here at dawn. Good night._

 _Yeah, 'night.._

The uncouth man walked through the stairs up his room, closing the door behind.  
Altough a bit dark, the inn was managed with care and warmth. It almost didn't feel like being in Darkshire at all.  
Orena did a good job taking a cue from Lion's Pride. The curtains were a dark purple, very soft to the touch, and they smelled like firebloom, which wasn't remotely native of Duskwood. The blankets were clean and fresh; Jericho collapsed on the bed, sitting down in a very resigned and tired way right after taking off his upper clothes.  
His bare chest was massive and full of scars; his body, altough the age, was still muscular.

He took the letter from the duster and unfolded it.

He sighed loudly, bringing his hand to cover his eyes to rub them in distress.

Then, a knocking on the door.

He lifted his head.  
He was too much lost into his worries and thoughts to even hear someone approaching.

 _Yes, come on in.  
_  
Beautiful red curles waltzed forward, entering the gruff man's room.

It was Vanessa.

She was wearing a night vest, altough a bit too much skin was unnecessarily showing.

 _Vanessa, is everything alright?_

She didn't spill a word but moved towards the bearish man.  
She stopped and scanned him through her hair covering her face.

Seconds later, she was on him, reeking of alcohol.

 _Vanessa?_

Jericho grabbed her tight, stopping her after her first kiss on his neck.

She struggled and tried to break free, but she couldn't match his strenght; yet it's important to underlight that no common man could probably stand to her physical imposition. And that's because she was no common woman anymore.

Altough the smell of dwarvish beer was strong, the sharpened nostrils of the man sensed an aroma that immediately provoked repulsion to him.

Peacebloom.

He pushed her back, having her growling at him.

 _Why you reject me?! What's wrong with me?! Why won't you like me?!_

 _For the Light's sake, Vanessa: you could be my daughter,_ he answered angrily.

The two of them didn't really stand out for their patience and cold blood.

 _That's not true, age is no obstacle to love, Jericho. I know your pain, I feel your pain. We both share it.  
And it's as clear as day that we need eachothers! You know I'll make you feel better!_

 _YOU KNOW NOTHING, VANESSA_ , the old man smashed hard his punch on the nightstand, ruining the refined wooden ornaments.

His teeth were showing and all of his anger and frustration was laid bare for the young redhead girl to see in displacement.

He stood up violently, walking hastly towards the scared girl and pointing at her.

 _You know nothing._

He left.

Vanessa started crying.

He left, his anger only to guide him into the deep darkness of Duskwood.  
He started running. He ran, ran as fast as he could. He ran as no man of his age could run.  
The anger, the hatred started burning and transforming into fuel for his body.  
 _  
_He ran.

Everything is colored blood.

He ran.

He ran until his legs alone weren't enough anymore. he ran until he had to fall on all four.  
The darkest fur grew over his skin before he could even realize.  
His claws were as long as daggers, his legs could sprint so fast.

He ran.

Elizabeth.  
 _  
_


	20. Good Ol' Times

The breathtaking capital of the sin'dorei was as radiant as usual.

The warm air was filled with everyday life, cuddled by the feeling of that ever lasting melancholic autumn.  
Yet however, beyond the luscious avenues, behind the rich billowing curtains, lied dark and gloomy interiors, and those eyes who seek through the other side of Silvermoon City may find that the city's beautiful facade only serves to hide the true, more sinister face of it.

Lywe was becoming good at practicing fellatio.  
She was having sexual intercourse with Meleon in their room on the second floor of a side building in The Royal Exchange, facing the elegant fountain located in the center of the square. Their bodies, bound together by passion, were melting in sweat among the luxurious silked blankets of their bed.

 _Oh, baby.. yes,_ he moaned.

Lywe was feeling weird.  
She was pleased to give pleasure, she was feeling hot and really into the fray of the lust of the moment.  
It's been a while since she chose Meleon as her family, her rock; her ties to her past, those sweet memories that will never come back.

Girls are complicated.

 _Don't stop babe, don't stop.. I'm about to.. I'm about to.._

She loved him, or so she thought and told herself.

But, sex aside, she couldn't still completely share her intimacy.

 _I'm coming, I'm coming, inside, drink it all, drink it,_ he exclaimed in the grip of lustful spasms.

She did not hesitated in his request.

She never did.

As the one-sided, romantic deed was finished, the tired and now slow Meleon sighed in relief.  
His long, brown and silky hair, almost silkier than Lywe's, were all being sticky on his sweated skin as he moved to sit on the side of the bed.

 _Did you like it_ , she asked.

He did not answer, but sighed once more in such a very relaxed and relieving way.  
She knew its positive connotation, but yet she wanted to be appreciated and praised as much as she could.  
The young blood elf started searching a bag under the bed; he opened it and took out a linen envelope. Inside of it, a shimmering blue essence shined.

 _Oh, Meleon.. no.._

 _It's okay baby_ , he smiled.

 _No, it's not. I told you. We already talked about it._

He ignored her.

As he prepared the blue, mana dust on the bed, he pathetically kneeled on the floor in order to reach it with his nostrils to sniffle.

 _Whatever. I'm going to have a bath without you, apparently.  
_  
 _Aaah.. WOOH, yeah. Sure, go on, go on.. I'll come right away, sweetie._

She closed the door behind her.

Frustration and disappointment fell on her shoulders.

Why she couldn't change him? Why she couldn't change who she loved?

Can you change someone you love in the first place anyway?

Is it even right to do so?

Are we supposed to change them or just accept who they are for we love them regardlessly?

So many questions pop out when you're in a relationship.  
If you truly are in love, you come to question yourself.  
But when that comes in an obnoxious way, day after day, you know something is wrong.

You start realizing it's all a mistake, you realize you're proceeding through a dead end and you'll get hurt, badly.  
You know it, you know it all and yet that won't provent you from keeping up the little show.  
You start scanning all the good times spent together, you force yourself to find motivation.  
You keep drowning all of your frustrations and doubts, burying them deep within your heart.

And her mind went blank once she entered the runic fire heated water of the bathtub.

So much relief, so much wellness.  
She felt cuddled by that warmth, that familiar embrace.  
Her silver hair would dance in the water all around, twisting harmonically as to draw a painting.

She rinsed in the silence of the room, feeling alienated by her beloved.

What is he doing? Did he fall asleep? He probably fell asleep. I can't believe it. I was waiting for him.. or maybe not? Maybe it's a good thing he didn't come. I really needed some time for myself. What do I do now? I really don't feel like sleeping. I should go check on him.. perhaps as he sleeps, I should get rid of that stupid mana dust. Altough if he finds out, he's probably going to get mad at me.. but I don't want him to take that shit, honestly.

Lazily, she left the dirty water in the tub and grabbed a cloth to barely cover her sinuous curves.

As the door opened, a beautifully grim and familiar scene blossomed in front of her.

Meleon was hanging naked on the ceiling with a rope, his corpse haunted with needles everywhere, fresh blood spilling from every single cut, dropping on the floor.

Her brain was still processing all of it as several seconds already passed.  
Before she could realize, she was panting and shaking. Her heart rate was rising, her senses felt numb and feeble.

 _Isn't it beautiful?_

A familiar voice, young yet dusty, twisted yet deep and falsely reassuring echoed from behind her.  
A black haired figure placed his pale, black nailed hand on one of Lywe's bare shoulder. It was cold, and the girl finally completely loosened the grasp that held the semi-wet cloth. He wore bandages around his chest, with belts full of daggers, vials and tiny bags adorning his upper body. A weird gas mask on his face with green lens to protect his eyes made him look like a giant fly. He was admiring Meleon's lifeless carcass, who minutes before was enjoying some mana dust while she was washing her body in the room next-door. She was petrified in horror. Her mouth was uncontrollably open, she wanted to say something but her saliva was all dried out. She was shaking, shaking like never before. No matter what, she couldn't take her eyes off that mask. He turned his face to her, and slowly lifted it to lay it rest on his forehead.

 _It's like on that day, remember?_

Oh, she remembered.  
And she remembered those wraith eyes, those grey lips, that raven feather colored hair and that tiny cute nose of him.

That unmistakable half scissor ringed sharply in the silence of that room, and before she could focus her sight the blade was already dancing around her cute and exhausted face.

He violently grabbed her wet, fairy silver hair with his left hand that now inexplicably disposed correctly of flesh and skin on the tips, decorated with those remarkable rotten short black nails.

Her eyes were drowning in tears. It was hard to breath, hard to think.

He forced her on her hands and knees, mercilessly holding onto her beautiful hair.  
His scissor was placed with millimetric precision on her carotid artery.

She started sobbing in a very compulsive way, she wasn't in control and she couldn't realize anymore of whatever was going on.  
Nothing was making sense, but one thing she knew was that she didn't want to die.  
Like anyone else when the time comes.

 _Do you remember Sheanna?_

The smile of the kind, innocent kaldorei little girl flashed before her.  
She closed her eyes, frowning.

 _Do you know who killed her?_

The smile quickly transformed into a corpse lying on the stiff, dark grass of Silverpine Forest.

 _Oh you do._  
 _Of course you do._

The sobbing started growing louder.

She wanted to ask for help, but the only sound she could emit was a feeble groan of pain.

He quickly moved his scissor, landing it on where he held the sin'dorei girl's silver hair.  
He brutally cut a huge lock and dropped it on the ground.

He let her go for a moment, then crouched and grabbed her face with his hands.

 _If I ever see you again, even by accident, I'm going to kill you, Lywe.  
I'm going to kill you, your father, your brother and everyone you cared and care for._

He smiled at her face frozen in fear.  
He stood up and sheated his blade, looking around to loot whatever he could make use of.

Altough she was free to move, her muscles were stiffened by tension, stress and fear.  
She was trying to say something, to stutter, but nothing.

A tiny, green figure approached her.  
He was also familiar to her, but she couldn't remember one bit of where she saw him.  
He was a bald goblin with a very peculiar piercing on his ear; he was wearing leather clothes and bags not bulky enough to prevent him from moving nimbly.  
It was pretty easy to notice white fur strings decorating his bracers and gloves, together with the lower part of his jacket held tight by a brown big belt.

 _Hiya ma'am, so sorry to interrupt your whatever it was._  
 _I'm pretty sure you already know he's not the best behaved nobleman in town, so let me apologize for such the intrusion._

Lywe bounced her incredulous eyes from the skinny silhouette of Needle, who was rustling and moving on to the next room, to the weird goblin who seemed to be casually talking to her as nothing happened. She felt her body frozen in shock, her limbs unresponsive.

The Kezan native tied a bandana around his neck and lifted it to cover his mouth, his voice now muffled.

 _Well, these furnitures sure are something. Best I ever saw was an armchair in Ratchet._  
 _I suppose we come from too different cultures, different standards.  
_  
He nonchalantly took out a big machete from the backpack he was carrying along.

 _Isn't this why the world is so beautiful?_

He cut the rope that was making her beloved hanging from the ceiling covered in cuts and blood.  
The corpse, tied like a Zhevra sausage, loudly hit the floor. Lywe sobbing spasms didn't lower one bit as she witnessed to Meleon's lifeless body in such conditions.  
The goblin approached what was left of the young girl precious childhood friend and former lover, lifting the machete into the air.

 _Ah, if it makes ya feel any better, we spied him going three-to-four times a week to Murder Row's brothel.  
Just sayin'._

The shocked eyes of the blood elf silently watched as the goblin butchered Meleon's body and put the pieces inside of a giant leather bag.

Needle reappared with his gas mask on and a sack full of stolen stuff, glancing at Kwyzkakle and Lywe who both looked back at him.  
Without saying a single word, he then left from the stairs, going back from wherever he came from.

 _Have a nice day, ma'am._

Following the undead lad, the goblin took his leave.

Lywe, still naked on her knees and hands, focused her breath that loudily transformed into an hysterical crying.  
She vomited on the floor after some hesitation, making clear that altough their perfect look and beautiful features, elves were just like anyone else.

 _ **If were you, I wouldn't be here for when rabid plague bears or festering wolves will come check this place for flesh.**_

A voice ringed inside Lywe's head.

 _ **Or worse... murlocs.**_


	21. Stone and Water

_Yo' guy' cane gah ckretty hoon._

Derrington made it sound as if he cared, but really didn't.

 _What..? I mean, no sir, yes sir, I mean, uh, we just needed to do a quick thing or two, aye._

Kwyzkakle tried his best to make it feel like it was completely normal for someone without their jaw to hold a conversation. After all, he was still the High Executor; respect is due, especially considering that what he and Needle sneaked out to do wasn't really something allowed, politically speaking.

 _Whaa' ing 'eh hack?_

 _..ack? The sack? This sack here, sir? Oh well, we, uh, I-_

 _Food for the worms,_ the gas-mask boy said with his voice muffled because of the filters.  
 _It's for the old hag in Brill. You know, she wanted something more_ , he paused. _Exotic, this time._

 _Speaking of which, I'd really need you to deliver Rhody a couple of supplies._

The boy turned his head towards apothecary Dithers, his sack full of elven goodies on his shoulder as he held it just like a grim version of Winter Veil Greathfather.

He took off his gas mask, now hanging from his neck.

A creepy smile painted his ghostly face.

 _Why don't you get your stupid stuff delivered to that witch yourself, you rotten and pustulent scum?_

 _Oye boy, now now. Sorry, my kind sir. He's just a bit stressed because of the journey. Saw a bit too many plagued bears on our way through the Plaguelands, aye. Now if you'll excuse us.._

Kwyzkakle pushed with his green baldie head the boy away from The Bulwark, with the eerie sound of High Executioner Derrington's chuckle becoming lower and lower. It took time before Needle got his eyes off of Dithers in defiance.

 _Boy you gotta watch your goddamn mouth, will ye?_

The forsaken lad smirked.

He didn't care at all.

He didn't care one bit of anything anymore.

But for sure, something was going on inside of his cold brain. Something made him way more alive than he was before, altough the reasons might not be as healthy as one could think.

In the distance, the boy and the goblin could admire the small town of Brill in all of its gloom. Brill was one of the earliest towns to become afflicted with the Plague of Undeath that would eventually cripple the norhtern lands.

 _This shithole. Uhf, I had to come back straight here after the fiasco in Ambermill._

 _And before that you came out of the nose of a forest Ettin?_

 _Huhfnh_ , the goblin panted.  
 _Why are ye such an asshole?_

 _And why are you so green?_

 _What a racist fuck._

The goblin dropped the sack on the ground, wiping the sweat off his forehead as Meleon's body pieces were pretty heavy for one his size. He stopped and started glancing the pale young man, who was creeply standing still in one of his usual unconventional poses right after dropping his sack aswell.

 _Yoo'r becoming way aggressive lately, ain't anyone tell you that?_

Kwyzkakle hopelessly stared the boy's eyes down, but all he was having back was a sneering look.

 _Why don't you wanna tell me what happened with the blood elf?_  
 _You know, I do remember her well in the inn._  
 _She was with you._  
 _These eyes ain't tricking me, boy._

 _Shut up, Kwyz. You don't want me to sew your mouth, do you?_

The exhausted goblin sighed.

 _Whatever, kid_ , he said grabbing the sack back to carry it on his tiny shoulder.  
 _But try to get that sand off yer panties someday_ , he added as his voice were accompanying him away towards Brill.

Needle stood still, a grimace adorning his spectral connotations.

By mere casualty, watching his little green friend leaving without him and walking away allowed his sight to behold a familiar shadow, not far away from his position.

The anonymus figure would blend way too well with the landscape.

Needle nervously sighed, leaving the sack on the ground as he hastily approached that mysteryous man kneeling down on the cold grass.

 _Thompson_ , the boy called for.

But the man would not answer.

The forsaken lad slowed down, stopping right in front of the scene of what seemed to be a ghoul devouring the corpse of a dead woman. He seemed to cluessly chewing that festering meat, looking around without focus and groaning uncontrollably.

With a hand on his hip and the other holding his chin, Needle shook his head.

He crouched at the same height of the kneeling man who'd still enjoy his improvised meal, now landing a hand on his shoulder in what seemed to be an empathetic comfort.

 _What did you do, Thompson?_

The man fixated the ground, his jaw hanging.

He groaned.

 _It's no good, no good._  
 _I told you it won't do._

From his belt, Needle took a short rope. It was consumed and pale, but still seemed pretty firm.  
He gently placed the rope aorund the ghoul's neck, tightening it with an elaborate but solid knot.

The ghoul answered with a wail, making noises as if trying somehow to cry out his despair.

 _Shh, let's go now, Thompson._  
 _Let's go find a giant good rock, you and me._


	22. Worse

The stench of Rhody's laboratory was nauseating. Mold, dust and chemical matter mixed together in a considerably stingy smell. But who could really sense it in there? Even Kwyzkakle finally managed to get accustomed to it, although the hardship of the first days. The whole of Lordaeron now had that stink of death; the woods of Silverpine were drenched in it. But Brill, Brill seemed to be the cold center and cause of it all.

The slim, gracile shadow of the boy walked back into it.

 _Oye, 'de hell've you been?! You took ages, boy_ , the goblin scoffed with shrugging hands.

He smiled, his ghostly eyes wide open as creepy as always.  
 _You know, you should let the dog take care of his own tail, Kwyz._

 _And you should stop bein' an asshole, kid._

The forsaken bursted into a sinister, maniac and self pleasing laugh. _  
Let's go ahead then,_ he answered with a huge grin on his face, approaching the goblin to pinch both of his ears. __

 _Needle?_

The glacial sound of Rhody's voice always sent a chill down the lad's spine. It was annoying, upsetting beyond the action itself. Just like a mother who would call for their child, regardless of the reason.

As they both turned their way to the Lady of that dark place, they saw the face of a beautiful young woman. It wasn't a news that Rhody, as narcisistic as she was, would skin alive the face of a girl to replace her own. The sides behind the ears were wholly sewn to Rhody's cranium, fitting the rest of the head as a whole but leaving a wrong note in the skin tone.

Disgusting. That's what she was.  
They both thought the same, but couldn't verbally express.  
Nobody could insult Rhody. Although Kwyzkakle wasn't there strictly out of her interest, respect was due. The side of Brill that hosted the location of her laboratory was plenty of abominations that didn't answer to the Deathguard or to the Banshee Queen. And there wasn't a need for asking to be sure about that. The old witch assembled her own bodyguard corp; her experience as a Royal Apothecary scientist and biologic engineer blossomed in the most bitter flower. What's better than an unfeeling, hulking bunch of dead meat put together into a monstrosity?

Needle froze in front of her; his fingers started moving as if he had some sort of degenerative central nervous system disease. But he hid his hands, if his they were, behind his back as he bit his lower lip the hardest.

 _Yes, Madame._

She smiled.  
 _Oh, don't be silly you. Are you guys gonna have fun?_

 _Yes._

 _Good boy, good._  
She stepped close to him, as she reached for his face with her cold dead hand. It was smooth for a woman who died during Lordaeron's fall.  
The boy's frustration and sense of oppression collapsed, and surprisingly climaxed into something unexpected. He managed to turn off his head completely, resetting his expression and posture completely, gluing his eyes to hers. Rhody didn't mind this, and she pretty much interpreted as one of his usual psychotic mood swings.  
 _I want you to know that auntie is very glad that you're working on helping her out.  
_  
 _Mr. Gollyhick, please take good care of my boy._

 _Uh, yes ma'am._

 _And as for your invention, I want you to know that I'm amazed by the great amount of improvement it's providing to my work._  
 _I will make sure to spread the word around each and every one of my contact. I want your genious to be recognized among my people. You'll make good money, Mr. Gollyhick._

 _Thank you very much, ma'am,_ Kwyzkakle said bowing downgraciously. __

Needle left, emotionless, apathetic. He went for his isolated room in the complex, with Kwyzkakle following him.  
As usual, they'd sit down at the table and start tinkering, crafting.

Goblin engineer was the most efficent profession one could hope to learn, having the possibilities of a forsaken. And what really mattered, was the aggressive nature of it. He wasn't learning how to craft for laboratory research and powering tools. In secret, he was learning how to craft bombs, gadgets.  
He found the goblin on his way back to Brill after events of Sheanna and the night elven camp. He recognized him from that time in the inn.  
He hired him with money he didn't have. It was pretty simplistic: no big words, no promises. Help me, teach me and I will give you all the money you want.  
And that, he did. He stole goodies and sold them, just like Lywe's house. He promoted his inventions and started finding buyers around the laboratories located in all forsaken territory. It was hard to believe the boy was thinking of something; and what's harder, to understand what he could be even up to.  
But that didn't matter to Kwyzkakle. Not as long as he was being paid. Or so that's what he told himself.

 _You hav' to be careful with that unstable trigger. If it gets to 'de solid blasting powder while in contact of the mithril casing, we will all end up being cooked chickens in here._

 _Which would turn out to be an improvement for your face._

Kwyzkakle took off his eyes of the dispenser that Needle was trying to assemble. The boy looked back at him.

 _You know, kid.. if you keep being like this, I am pretty sure that you'll end up just like your beloved Rhody_ , he spouted at him, looking right through his protective engineering goggles.

Oh no, he answered.  
 _I'm going to be worse. Much worse._


	23. Day

Breath.

Don't let go of my hand.

Breath.

Breeze; breeze going through your face.

Breath.

Don't let me go.  
Don't let go, Jericho.

Jericho?

 _Jerikoh?  
_

 _.. uh? What?_

The strong Draenei accent was very irritating to the gruffy man. He first flexed his own fingers, moving them as if his hands were to squish whatever.

Horse neighing.

His breath was weirdly calm; the only thing he could really feel upon his touch was wet grass.

Beneath the eternal blanket of darkness, Duskwood had always been a cursed, dying land due to the events tied to the Scythe of Elune.  
This was something the worgen were really well aware of, and for the same reason they would feel pretty familiar and comfortable with it.

 _Hofra, yes,_ he said right before he tried to clear his throat.

 _Jeso, Jerikho. Where are'zyor manners_ , the draenei asked while pointing at the savage scarred, bare chest of the man.

 _Vanessa said you went out last night and didn't come back, yes. You can't disappear on us like that._

No, no.. of course. I just,

he covered his face with his hand, rubbing his eyes with the pointing finger and his thumb; _I went out to think a bit and I probably, uhm.. lost my grasp on time._

Ah, tor nai mili'edos,

she answered.

The draenei light priestess was holding her own horse, followed by an obedient and elegant one.  
She was still wearing the same rough clothing of the journey to Hillsbrad Foothills; her white hair were crowning that pale, brilliant and elegant face of hers. Her facial features were very feminine and delicate, altough it was heavily outside of any standard a human would attribute to a woman of the same kind.

He could never really deduce her age.  
After all, Draenei age differently from humans and even from elves.

Their lifespan could even reach for twenty-five thousands years.  
Her face was clashing a lot with her attitude, her behaviour.  
He felt like she was way older and wiser than him, with him being already in a pretty matured age already.

And yet it confused him to see that nice looking face, bare of any wrinkle or aging signs.  
He was never really used to be around elves either.

 _Take this, have some respect for a lady in your presence, Jerikoh.  
_ She gave him his long leather duster, and as he had his hands on it, he stood up and put it on, altough maintaining quite the barbarian look as there was nothing beneath. He didn't care to button, and Hofra didn't care to insist as she was well aware of the old man's stubborness.

He walked towards the brown skinned horse on the back, gently grabbing her by the snout.  
 _Hi Breeze.. sorry, girl.  
_ The horse neighed back.  
 _Are you hungry? Did you have breakfast?_

 _I fed her this morning with hay and apple, no worrying._

 _How many apples,_ the man bluntly asked.  
 _  
One, Jerickoh,_ she smiled _._

 _Don't worry. Too many apples make horses' belly funny. It's not good, I know that._

He looked at he, forcing a smile back.

 _Yeah. Sorry.. and_ , he paused; _thanks_.

 _You are too stiff, Jerikoh. Too closed. We are to work together, you can feel okay with me._

 _.. where is Vanessa?_

 _She said she would precede us to Stormwind City. A messenger this morning came, they want us zere for a new job. They will speak us details when we arrive._

 _Right. Yeah, let's go then._

 _She looked very weird this morning._

 _Who?_

 _Vanessa._

 _Ah, yeah._

 _Did something happen?_

 _No_.


	24. I Have To Try

She closed her eyes and she saw her.

That little elf girl with those beautiful, silky blue night colored hair.  
She saw her smile, her little bruise on the cheek.  
She saw that old, ugly rag doll right being wrapped around her tiny arms.

She opened her eyes, staring at that sin'dorei pillow on the ground with her still pale face, focusing on that weird shaped sinking on it.

She closed her eyes and she saw him.

His dark, crow hair; his ash colored flesh, covered in stitches and sewing.  
She saw his stupidly, at the time innocent face biting his pointing finger.

She saw Meleon's dead body.

She saw him giving him clothes, she saw his bared claws crawling on his leg to reach for that horribly long shaped single scissor blade.  
She saw the river; she saw him playing with the little girl.  
She saw a crocolisk; now a giant forsaken gas mask staring through her.

And again, Meleon's cold corpse hanging from the ceiling.

She saw that warm hearth, feebly lighting the room as he watched over her for all the night.  
She saw his cold, pale face.  
She saw his ghostly eyes.

 _Ly Ly._

She opened her eyes but his face was still there.  
He was crawling towards her with a huge, creepy smile on his face.  
He was there. He was gesturing her to be quiet.

 _Lywe._  
 _Lywe?_

Lotnyastra sitted next to her, posing her soft, gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked at her friend as she tried to comfort her, that color and dark ambient now transforming into very warm colors all around her.

 _Are you better, darling?_

Lywe sighed.

 _Look, in my opinion you should just head to the Court of the Sun and report everything. Everything you witnessed._

 _No.._

 _We are talking about treason. The Dark Lady being warchief now doesn't give her any right to have her monstrosities run around her own allies' cities to commit murders and crime!_  
She paused.  
 _If anything, I am pretty sure Sylvanas still prefers her true people over some walking dead corpses. I am sure whoever did this to you will be found and punished._

 _Lotny, you don't understand, she answered with a broken voice._

 _Oh you bet I do_ , she stood up brusquely. Lotnyastra's was wearing a very stimulating dress, purple in color and with golden embroidement all around.  
Her long hair, gathered in a very complex bun, was between brown and bright red. She was a courtesan of Murder Row, any other girl working there was dressed the same way.  
 _If there's something I hate the most in this stupid world is when things are left unjust. Lor'themar has to take care of his people! Is it possible that there's no much control and safety in this city? Even the Orb of Translocation is pretty much accessible to anyone once you get a simple permission. Maybe if we actually go check and ask, we can fin-_

 _You don't understand!_

The courtesan stopped talking as Lywe started crying loud. She hugged her and caressed her silver hair like a sister would do.

 _I'm sorry_ , she said.

A blood elf ranger, meanwhile, was staring at the two girl in the corner of a room, leaning on a luxurious looking table.  
He was toying with a mana crystal. He sighed, looking seriously worried about Lywe's condition.

 _He can come back. It's not safe, and I don't want any trouble._

 _But who is HE, Lywe? How do you know him?_

 _It's a long story, she sniffed._

 _Did you wrong him?_

 _She didn't say anything._

 _Then we will have to pay him a visit and exchange the pleasantry._  
 _Where can I find him?_

 _Vyananis, no. If anything, I should go too._  
 _I have to clarify some things with him._

 _But didn't he threaten you? You should stay away from him, Lywe_ , he crushed his fist on the table.

 _I have to make things right,_ she sniffed again, wiping her wet eyes with her wrists.  
Blue night hair.  
 _I have to try._  
Pale, soft skin. Innocent smile.

 _Lotnyastra? You have a customer_ , a girl said as she pushed aside the delicate violet curtain. 


	25. Little Things

Sometimes it's just the little things.

Hundreds, thousands of years of conflict, nations at war: hatred, tolerance, peace.

Bigger threats would oppress this world; Kings and Chiefs would put aside differences.

To work together.

Fight together.

Fall together.

One little crystal to change everything.

Or is it the hatred, the rancor lurking behind a creature who already died many years ago; her despise, her disappointment towards life itself.

But is she to blame after all?

One who lost everything can really worry about consequences and morales?

And is it really about one single entity alone?

Or are we talking about more? Many more?

Many, but as one.

This was her plan all along.

Death for everything and everyone.

This was the only thing she wanted to rule over, and not a bunch of stenching, barbarian beasts screaming in unison for war.

Or did she have other motives beneath appearance?

That was irrelevant.

Rhody didn't care one bit: the forsaken witch was granted, together with every other Undercity alchemy cell, a portion of Azerite coming straight from the pulsing veins of the wounds caused by Sargeras' sword in Silithus.

And with it came the order to experiment, test and create new weapons, utilities, resources: everything that could be used to extinguish life and bring annihilation.

 _Magnificent._

She couldn't stop thinking of any other word.

Her researches highly improved and accelerated, and the forsaken hag started successfully creating empowered abominations for her own cause.

But she couldn't care less for The Banshee Queen plans or visions of the world: she had her own path to follow and she wasn't one for selflessness.

For each report Sylvanas requested from each of her forsaken alchemy laboratory, she would send only abortions of the true fruits of her hard labour: failures, artificial unsuccessful horrific amalgamations.

But that was okay, because the Royal Apothecary could afford to invest some of that powerful mineral that couldn't stop being extracted in abundance by Gallawyx's goblins.

Rhody would be just one of many and no one would ever really worry about the fact that she would plot against Her Majesty, The Banshee Warchief.

Instead, she already had about a dozen of the most qualified alchemists and surgeons caught into her twisted vision of what had to come.

Right next to the Undercity, another underground organisation was gaining strenght day after day.

And nobody would have ever known.

Day after day.

Not until the time would come.

Day after day.

Everything is the same.

Day after day.

I don't want to be here.

Day after day after day after day after day.

Is it ever going to stop?

Day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day.

His clock wouldn't stop ticking on the same second, the same minute, the same hour forever.

 _Dear._

His pale skin and body didn't get any better nor worse. It felt like he was stuck in time, untouched by the true form of death.

 _My dear?_

His ghostly eyes, usually veiled by his raven black greasy and dirty hair, would glow when looked upon the beauty of the moon.

 _Needle._

The dead boy moved his neck towards the creepy woman.

He was huddled in the corner of Rhody's personal laboratory, staring at the clock with no literal conception of time, waiting for his moniker to be spoken.

He looked up to the decrepit forsaken, flashing a big, forced and deviated smile.

 _Yes, auntie_ , he crawled forward on all four in apparent pathetic submission.

Most undead did not bask in the power of Arthas' Val'kyr to be resurrected with an inch of will left. The old generation of forsaken couldn't keep the integrity of their flesh and bones, the beauty of their living body.

But when he was raised, the Lich King was dead and the Banshee Queen had his former flying pet maids in chains to reproduce her people.

And with the same magic, Nathanos Blightcaller, the Champion of The Dark Lady, was also renewed.

How sadly unfair.

She was delighted by his trait: she knew not many were like him and he just loved the way he'd blossom in its own way among all of those decaying monsters.

She was fascinated and envious.

She loved and hated him for it, and she wanted him to writhe like a worm on a hook.

But at the same time she wanted to take care of him, to own him.

He was nothing but a toy, just like everyone else.

But he was the favourite.

 _Auntie wants you to travel to the Undercity to retrieve a package from a special someone._

He nervously stared panting.

 _Yes, auntie._

 _He will be waiting by the ruins of Lordaeron, in the gardens at the back of the entrance on the surface. Don't mind possible mindless wanderers in there, nor do care for the guards to notice you: they will not._

She took two steps towards the boy, touching her own nose with one of her horrific, wrinkly rotten finger covered by a delicate dark purple glove. __

 _He will be dressed anonymously, probably in a hood and a cloak,_ she said rolling her eyes. _  
But don't worry, darling: you will be able to find him. Just follow the emerald glowing and you'll know it's the right person._

The disgusting lady took our of the breast of her horrific levander colored gloomy dress a gold and crimson necklace.

Right in the center, the shape of a swan: carved on it what seemed to be thalassian, the language root of quel'dorei.

 _When you find him, show him this pendant and he will give you what I need._

The shadowy, slender silouhette of the boy creepily stood up without the help of hands, reaching for the elfic trinket that Rhody let fall in his hand.

He peeked at it, his glowing ghost white left eye coming out from the shade of his fringe to study it.

Finally, he clenched his fist and left the laboratory without a sound.

Dark, darker yet darker.


	26. Mockery of Existance

How many times have you stepped on these lands?

Many.

How many times have your feet posed on this hardened, stiff and greyed out grass?

Many.

You counted every single week, every single day, every single step you took.

And you continue taking them, feeling no tireness, no hunger, no fear; nothing. Did you not have enough of being told what to do, being dragged around by someone else's will?  
Yes.

Yes?

Yes.

Is that it? Is that everything you are able to say?

That's exactly the reason why you're a worm, a lamprey blindly executing the bidding of a deranged, evil being and following her in a twisted web of nightmare.

You're nothing but a puppet.

No.

Oh yes, yes you are.  
You're just a doll, you were brought back and escaped your true fate only due to mere whim. You're worthless. You're an abomination, a parody of life, a mockery of existance.

No.

You can't protect yourself, you dreamt of protecting someone else.  
What were you thinking? What are you thinking?

Lots.

That's a lie.  
We both know very well you and I that you aren't going anywhere. Do you think you're some sort of hero, do you think you're superior to whatever happens all around you? Do you think you're special, do you think you have motives that trascend reality? You aren't the protagonist in this world. Nobody is going to help you. There's no one watching over you. You're left behind, a shadow of your pathetic and miserable past you can't even afford to remember.  
You are just the rotten, empty husk of an useless and meaningless existance.

You are right.

I am? You are. We are the same person, you're talking to yourself. You are insane. You are talking to yourself and you know this.  
Is this how lonely you feel?

Yes.

I have no purpose, no role.

I am no real entity in this world, I only existed once.

But whatever I am now, I will make sure.

Whatever I can do, I will do.


	27. Things don't last forever

The largest human city on Azeroth shined bright as the mane of a young lion fiercely sunbathing at the top of the king's cliff. Stormwind City was named for the occasional sudden squalls created by a ley line pattern in the mountains all around its glory.

With King Varian's death, people of the Alliance managed to find renewed hope within the boy king, Anduin, which wasn't easily earned at first at all.

Stormwind's climate is warm, the skies are clear, the season are generally temperate. Thus inhabitants choose clothes composed by light fabric, but do not restrain from boldness: in facts, abundance is prefered and bright colors are picked: whites, reds, oranges, blues.  
Humans usually wear long-sleeved tunics, billowy trousers, leather boots and sometimes even ridiculously large, floppy hats for excessively sunny days.

But gilneans were humans no more.  
Even before the curse, people were already often burly and gruff; along with the cold and rainy weather of the peninsula, their architectures, weapons, costumes have always been way darker than their kinship from the south.

Jericho was no exception, and he did not really stand out as any special someone. If anything, it was easy not to notice his presence, blending with both crowds and environments. And this was something he recognized and managed to aknowledge and master as a trait of strenght.

Some way or another, inns were like check-points for the unconventional and mystirious trio.

The Glided Rose inn was Trade District's most popular resting point for travelers passing through the human capital also due to its proximity to the city bank and auction house.

 _You look grumpier than usual, ye old man_ , the curled girl blurted out with both affection and defile.

Jericho smiled beneath his bearish beard; things felt awkward between him and Vanessa since that night, but he really did build up the effort needed in order to make it look like nothing really happened.

But some things can never be buried again.

He clenched his grip around the mug filled with Loch Modan imported brew; somehow he particularly grew accostumed to the biscuity, malty burnt cream flavour of dwarven beer produced in the province.

Vanessa sitted right next to Jericho, staring within the old man's eyes looking for confrontation. She bited her lower lip as she knew she was teasing him into something annoying.  
She didn't want to give up.

 _Zey want us to await for new orders_ , the pure looking Hofra said, interrupting the embarassing moment.  
 _According to them, new information should be gathered soon enough and action will be needed to be taken immediately when ze time comes. Zey don't want to risk to have us away on other matters._  
 _They granted us necessary funds for now to have a room for three persons at the inn and one meal a day per each._

 _They're growing generous, aye,_ the red haired girl smirked.  
 _It feels almost as if we're princesses._

The old wolf felt uneasy.  
They were going to stall in Stormwind City for the time necessary of this new job to be defined.

 _It must be something big if they are even willing to pay for our staying in here_ , he squinted his eyes in thought.

 _Perhaps they have updates on Silverpine Forest massacre?_  
 _But those were fanatics, weren't they? I can't understand why someone is wasting this much time on some sort of idiotic consipracy,_ Vanessa snorted.

 _Are zyou saying innocent life does not matter?_

 _I'm not saying that; what I'm saying is that the world is being turned upside down with this new Azerite mineral. We are possibly next to a revolution; why would an organization pay attention to something that's not trendy and that can possibly make them do lots and lots of money?_

 _And who said they're not after that, eventually?_

 _Wazever the reasons, we must not fall into doubt or hesitation. Let us keep our mind clear from turmoil and focus on what is a head._

 _Hofra's right_ , the old man sighed heavily from his nostrils.  
 _Things won't stay like this forever, anyway._

Vanessa's eyes were captured like a magnet by Jericho's last words.

She knew very well what emotions were hidden behind them.

She wanted things to be different too.

Things don't last forever.


	28. Him

The eternal spring of Eversong Woods was there, still, immobile; set to never expire.  
It did not have to mirror the state of mind and heart of its inhabitants: as a matter of fact, Lywe still could not spend a single serene moment from that day, even in the cozy, temperate warmth of the bright and colorful forest.

She wouldn't eat for days, barely seeing her friends or acquaintances.  
Luckily for her, Lotnyastra cared lots for her sake since that time at Velandra's Inn. That time when they met, a not-so-devoted Blood Knight was trying his way forcefully with the courtesan, and Lywe couldn't stand it.  
She was much more tougher back then; ever since she had to rely only on her strenght alone to survive after the tragedy her family had to face, she slowly managed to build up courage and self-esteem. She was conscious, she felt alive and independent despite every difficulty.

Then that day happened: the two orcs, the giant spiders, the crocolisk, the dark forest.

That boy.

She realized that outside the world she grew up into, she was nothing. Everything outside Quel'thalas was bigger and stronger than her, and the only craving it fed on was to violate and hurt.  
She was sitting by the river, not far from Farstrider Retreat.  
That place, if anything, managed to sooth her soul by summoning recollections of her childhood; the dragonhawk, the lynxes, the chanting of the students practicing their spells with Instructor Antheol. She was feeling cuddled by those memories.

Lotnyastra knew she'd find her right there. After all, as her friend, she managed to know her better and better.  
Besides, she couldn't bring herself to leave her alone for too long.  
Silvermoon City didn't reveal to be safe at all; and if the city center wasn't a safe place, then nowhere would be.

 _You're as beautiful as a diamond, Ly-Ly: Eversong reflects its light on you, and you manage to refract it and spread it all around you._

She couldn't help but smiling, breaking that mood of seriousness that was choking her slowly but relentlessly.

 _Since when did you become a poetess?_

 _Since you managed to kidnap my heart, o' Sun and Stars_ , the courtesan said as with both hands placed on her chest dramatically flashed a look at the red shaded sky.

Lywe's smile blossomed into a shiny, beautiful and innocent giggling. The eyes of the girl wouldn't stop looking downin awe and shyness.  
The courtesan softly laughed back, wrapping her arm around the back of the troubled elf as a gesture of complicity and comfort.

 _Hey._

 _...hey._

 _Can you tell me what happened back there?_

Lywe sighed.

 _Lywe. I promise you will feel better._

 _...remember what I had do to do with Meleon?_

 _Yes._

 _...the plan didn't follow accordingly. Upon arriving at Silverpine Forest, I wanted protection for the travel. Those,_ she paused, biting her lips, _damn woods really are scary; it's nothing like the Ghostlands; and so I ended up hiring mercenaries._

 _Mercenaries?_

 _Two orcs. They were stopping by at Brill; they seemed reliable and well-equipped._  
Lywe's breath started becoming heavier and heavier.  
 _I didn't give much thought about it, I guessed money was enough._  
Another sigh.  
 _We managed to find one of the kaldorei; although she was just a little girl._  
 _Sheanna._

 _Who?_

 _Sheanna. It was her name.  
_ For as long as she was trying to postpone it, the anticipation, the mere thought of him started building up pressure into the elf's heart.

But he was a too much of an important detail to ignore.

 _We took her with us, she was running away from a skittish terror. She was so little.. she was running away, but she wasn't screaming. She looked so strong, really.. I couldn't leave her to her fate. I justified myself with the orcs saying she could be useful to some possible.. clashing with the Alliance and we would leave her to a close outpost as we could, so they didn't really care. After all they were being paid._

 _Of course._

 _But I just didn't want to be suspicious, that's all._

 _Yes._

 _I was avoiding the main road; there's an Ettin caravan transportation service traveling all the way from the Undercity front to the borderline with Hillsbrad Foothills. But I couldn't afford unwanted eyes. I've been told the Warchief watches over the entirety of the dead lands._

 _That's expectedly creepy._

 _We.. we stopped by a an abandoned house by this lake they have over there, and I was about to sleep. I had the little girl with me for barely a day. I managed to bound with her pretty easily, that's why she was okay with sleeping with me._  
Unpleasant memories started flashing before Lywe's eyes.  
Just tiny bits, seconds; but they would capture the terror perfectly.

 _...and?_

 _And then they just broke into the house time later they were told to sleep outside, threw the little kaldorei in a corner and jumped on me, ripping my clothes and tried to rape me._

 _...wait a second. What?_

Yes.

 _What you heard._

Oh, yes.

 _They tried to rape you?!_

You feel his portrait, his pale silhouette, his eerie smile crawling up your spine, don't you?

 _Yes._

You can't escape your brain.

 _By the Sunwell, that's t-_

He's there.

 _And they would have done it if it wasn't for him._

Him.

 _...for him?_

 _Him._  
 _The undead who killed Meleon and assaulted me._

 _An.. bu-_

 _He saved me back then. He killed those savages and he took care of me and the little kaldorei._  
 _He's not stable but now I'm sure he was being genuine. I know for the way he reacted. I was there when she died._

 _The kaldorei girl?_

 _Oh, Lotny.. she was so little,_ Lywe broke into a feeble crying.

 _It's my fault. It's partly my fault for what happened to her and her friends and family. When Meleon contacted me, I felt somehow happy.. but the reason I accepted to go there was for money._

 _I know better than anyone, Lywe. Stop torturing yourself._

 _I can't stop seeing her pretty little face on the floor, massacred. I can't, Lotny.._

 _I know, baby.. I know._

 _...and I'm sure neither he can._

 _He..?_

Him.

 _Yes, him. Needle._

 _The forsaken..?_

 _I need to find him. I need to explain him._  
 _He needs to know._

 _Vyananis won't let you go. Not alone, at least._  
 _You know he cares about you. Perhaps just as much as I do.._  
But she knew it was something more than caring alone.  
She just couldn't tell her friend.

 _You don't understand, Lotny._  
 _It's not for my sake alone. It's for his, aswell._  
 _I owe him my life. He's free to take it back if he wants, but I want to be honest with him. I need to talk to him._

Him.


End file.
